In Shadows
by Sub-Zero MKA
Summary: In a world where SHIELD is at it's weakest and without Earth's Mightiest to aid them, forces hidden in the deepest shadows seek to take over. While loyal agents like Hill and Coulson try to stem the tide, they realize that the conspiracy enfolding them all runs much, much deeper than they could have possibly imagined. Rated T for language. Part IV of The Masters AU.
1. Upheaval

_**A/N:**__ Here's the next story in my 'The Masters' series. This will be a SHIELD story for the most part, that will incorporate a lot from the comics and movies universes. The New Avengers and other heroes will make appearances here and there, though._

* * *

_**In Shadows**_

_**Upheaval**_

**The Triskelion **

It was only a matter of time, Fury figured. Eight days since the defeat of the Masters of Evil, the World Security Council launched a full review, as was their wont and protocol after every major crisis. Normally, he received a good review.

This wasn't a normal occasion. They just overcame the greatest global crisis since WWII, but not without a massive cost. Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers were dead, and over 70% of SHIELD's based were smoldering piles of ash. Dozens upon dozens of SHIELD agents were either dead or turned into some kind of biological Sentinel hybrid. All under his watch.

He had a bad feeling about this meeting.

He almost always did. It was no secret that he had no love for the WSC. They disagreed on almost everything, and he had his suspicions about whether they were really as on the up and up as they tried to make themselves out to be.

This time, he felt especially bad. Everything that could have gone wrong in the beginning did, in spectacular fashion. In fact, it was only when the New Avengers cut ties with SHIELD that things actually start going right. Fury was proud of the team, but the alarming speed with which they flipped the script on the Masters had him worried about his job security. He, in his own opinion, acted incompetently during the entire ordeal. He was sure that the WSC saw things the same way.

Fury sighed and strode quickly down the crowded halls en route to the conference room. To his left was his Deputy, and his right was his best agent. Next to him was Agent 13, aka Sharon Carter.

He liked Sharon. She was a straightforward woman who did her job the right way, without question. She was also the great-niece of the first SHIELD director, Peggy Carter. He guessed that made her part of some kind of legacy of Carter women in SHIELD. He didn't know if Sharon's mother, Peggy's niece, was apart of SHIELD. That'd be something he'd have to remember to ask her.

"I have a bad feeling about this, boss," Coulson said in a low tone. Hill nodded in silent agreement.

It was no secret that Fury didn't care for the WSC. It was also no secret that the WSC didn't care for him. They had been looking for a reason to kick him to the curb for years. Decades, really, since they never jibed well together to begin with.

"They're looking for an excuse, sir," Carter noted. She didn't have to point out that he very well may have given them a valid one.

Fury sighed. "I'm aware."

"They're looking for a scapegoat," Hill stated.

Again, Fury sighed. "I'm aware."

"You're taking the fall for this," Coulson said.

Fury stopped at the door of the conference room where the WSC was waiting for him. He turned to face his three agents. His weathered face was tight and weighed down with grim realization. "I'm aware," he answered for a third time. He opened the door and stepped inside. The door closed, leaving the three high ranking agents to pace the floor and inquire about his fate.

The room was dimly lit, presumably for intimidation. There were only five people in the room – three of which were members of the WSC, representing France, Germany and the United States. One, a redheaded woman in her late twenties, was the registrar in charge of recording the discussion. Finally, there was an unknown caucasian man, possibly in his forties with graying black hair sitting in the corner. When they made eye contact, he nodded once sharply.

Fury didn't nod back.

"Welcome Director Fury," greeted the French councilwoman. "Please have a seat and we will begin."

He did so. The table he sat behind was small, just large enough for one person. There was one overhead light illuminating the perimeter of his table. There were three lights illuminating theirs.

"How are you today, Director?" asked the German councilman.

"Let's cut to the chase, Councilman Langsdorf," Fury stated dryly.

Langsdorf sighed softly and nodded. "Very well, Director. Why don't you give us a brief synopsis of what happened with the Masters of Evil."

Fury spoke promptly. "On June 13th of this year, at approximately 5:02 in the afternoon, SHIELD received word that a swarm of oversized insects, wasps and ants specifically, was rampaging through Houston, Texas." It was a sign of the times that no one found that to be weird in the slightest. "I alerted and deployed the Avengers immediately. After our debriefing the next day, the team was attacked by first a dragon, and then a cloaked man who was later identified as the Mandarin."

"Did you give the team any assistance with the, ah, dragon?" asked the councilwoman.

"No," he answered succintly.

"Why not?"

"We had problems scrambling our jets. Our systems were hacked by Hydra."

"And how did that happen?"

"We are still trying to figure that out."

She wrote nothing down, which coaxed an eyebrow from Fury, and gestured for him to continue.

"The Avengers then laughed a full investigation into the Masters. It was then, on June 18, that Rogers and Stark found that Dr. Henry Pym and Mr. Scott Lang had been kidnapped by Hydra. Stark deduced that it was Hydra who was behind the attack in Houston, and that they would likely want Pym's colleague Janet Van Dyne, as well. En route to bringing her to SHIELD, they were attacked by Hydra. Lang, under orders from his captures, kidnapped Van Dyne and took her back to Hydra."

The American councilman, Jackson, raised an eyebrow. "And yet, we've been briefed that he was not only not apprehended, but was allowed on the New Avengers."

"His daughter was kidnapped and used as leverage against him. I can forgive a man for doing what it takes to keep his daughter alive." Fury waited to see if Jackson wrote anything down. He didn't. "At the same time as this, in Montreal, Thor and the Maximoffs were sent to handle a disturbance. They were immediately attacked by the Abomination. We still don't know how he managed to escape from his quintuple maximum security prison cell. While Thor battled him, and Scarlet Witch handled the civilians, Quicksilver was brainwashed by Amora the Enchantress, who sent him to kill his sister. If Thor hadn't have shown up when he did, he would have.

"Later that night, I sent Agents Romanoff, Barton and Drew t–"

"The Hydra spy, you mean?" interrupted Jackson.

"_Former_ Hydra spy," he corrected, annoyed at being interrupted again.

Jackson rummaged through the papers before him and pulled one in particular out. He quickly scanned through it, then shook his head. "Hm, no. Her dossier doesn't say anything about her formally renouncing her allegiance to Hydra. Matter of fact," he paused at went through the same process, "neither does Romanoff's."

Fury shrugged. "Seems like they didn't need to, since they both had been on their best behavior for the five and eight years, respectively, that they had been at SHIELD."

"They're spies, Director Fury. They make a living in deep undercover. How do we know that Romanoff wasn't in collusion with this Yelena Belova for the Red Room? How do we know that Drew wasn't the one who hacked into SHIELD's computers and mussed up the systems? How do we know that Thor didn't secretly provide an avenue for his friend the Enchantress to sneak onto Earth?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, jaw tight with annoyance and burgeoning anger. The unadulterated gall these bastards had to actually insinuate that the Avengers, his handpicked heroes, had something to do with this. "Romanoff and Drew were taken as young girls and abused by their respective groups, molded into killers, and then set loose on the world on a leash. When they broke free, and found that they could atone for their sins, they jumped at the opportunity. I like to think that I'm pretty good at reading people. Trust me, they were legit. As for Thor, he was a noble prince. An honorable man. I guaranteed that he had nothing to do with this."

"But not intentionally, right?" the councilwoman, LaRue, retorted. "She was his childhood friend, wasn't she? If a friend asked to visit, would you say no?"

Fury looked at her strangely. He knew, for a fact, that Thor only told him of his relationship with the Enchantress. How did they know that? "How did you know that?"

"The other Asgardian, Valkyrie, told us when we debriefed her recently," she answered coolly.

Valkyrie had only been back on Earth once since the battle at Zemo's castle, and that was to ask him if she could take Loki's scepter back to Asgard. She left immediately after he said he'd get back to her.

His eyes narrowed, suspiciousness and paranoia permeating off him like a thick smoke.

"Is something the matter, Director?" Langsdorf asked casually.

Fury stood abruptly from his chair. "What is this?"

The three councilmembers watched him calmly. "This is your performance review, as is protocol after crises like this. If you'll have a seat," Langsdorf suggested.

"I'm not sitting anywhere. Something isn't right about any of this."

The three looked at each other then back to Fury. Jackson shrugged. "If you'd like to discontinue the debriefing, we can."

Fury said nothing.

"Very well. We've made our decision."

"What? What decision? How?"

They ignored him. "In light of the way SHIELD handle the crisis with the Master of Evil, the death of the Avengers, and the death of thousands, we deem it necessary to move in a different direction with SHIELD. Unfortunately, that direction will not include you."

And there it was. Fury figured he'd lose his job. It was why he looked as calm as he did when the figurative hammer dropped.

But, literally none of this sat well with him.

But, what could he have done? He had no real power over them, and even if he did, he had just been fired. He was just a man now.

"We are terribly broken up about –"

"Save it, Jackson," Fury spat. Now that he was fired, he could have spent days lambasting the three jackasses in front of him. But he didn't. He had more important things to look into.

Without another word or passing glance to anyone in the room, he strode out. Once outside, he looked at his three agents. Specifically Hill. In the protocol, it stated clearly that if anything happened to him, the Deputy Director would be promoted to Director. Even if she was passed over, there was Coulson and Hand. Either way, SHIELD was in good hands. "Good luck," the said with a broad nod to the three of them.

"Good luck? Nick, wait!" It was Hill, but he didn't stop.

He didn't stop until he walked inside his office and found it already devoid of furniture, pictures and his desk. Hell, even his picture of the Howling Commandos that was hanging up behind his desk was gone. All that was present was a cardboard box with the things that once occupied his desk. "Bastards."

"Nick?" Hill and Coulson stepped inside and faltered. "Sir, what happened?"

"It should be obvious, Hill. You, or Coulson or Hand, are in charge now." A grave silence swept over the room. Fury waited a few moments before taking his leave. "Take care. It's been an honor serving with all of you."

Nick Fury wasn't one for over emotional and sappy goodbyes. He wasn't one for goodbyes in general; he usually just left. This case, however, he felt that the people before him deserved at least one final word. He decided right then to give Victoria Hand a call to say goodbye. For as much crap as she put up with from him, he felt she deserved it, as well. Also, he had something to ask of her.

He felt a little bad using his dismissal as leverage to basically guilt her into doing this. Well, it had to be done.

As he walked down the halls of the Triskelion, he dumped his box in the nearest trash can and headed for the exit. There was nothing in that desk that he needed.

"Mr. Fury," said a voice once he stepped outside. He turned and found an older man with graying black hair and goatee dressed in a sharp navy blue suit. He was leaning on a bright yellow Corvette. "Hello. I'm –"

"Dr. Stephen Strange, yes, I know who you are." How couldn't he recognize the outspoken neurosurgeon? But, how did he get passed security without proper authorization, and why was here to talk with him?

Strange smiled knowingly. "Of course you do. First, allow me to say that I'm sorry for your frankly unjust dismissal," he said genuinely.

Fury raised an eyebrow and cocked his head back. "How did you –"

"I'll explain. Please," he gestured toward the passenger side door, "if you will. I have much to speak with you about."

Should he? Whatever Strange had to talk about probably wasn't important, but there was something about him that compelled him to at least listen. Besides, he had all the time in the world to do what he needed to do now. "Sure. I'll listen."

* * *

**_A/N: _**_And there we go. Let me know what you all think._


	2. Insinuations

_**A/N: **__I forgot to mention that one of the OCs in this story is one of the main characters. But, he isn't the focal point of the story._

_**Insinuations**_

Maria was shellshocked. "Fired? What do you mean fired?!" she demanded of the redheaded young woman who was the registrar during the conference. She was a mere five inches away from her face, looming largely over the smaller woman. "Well?!"

The poor girl shrunk back under her superior officer's livid gaze. She swallowed, her freckled face paled and a cold sweat dripping down her forehead. "Th-they said that they wanted t-to go in a different direction," she squeaked.

Maria looked like she wanted to punch the girl in the face for being such a little bitch, but Phil's hand on her shoulder stopped her. Instead, she let out an unladylike snort in the girl's face and shoved passed her to get to the door.

"Wait! You can't go in there."

Ignoring her, Maria opened the door and walked inside. Jackson, LaRue, and Langsdorf were standing in front of the long conference table, talking amongst themselves with the mysterious man. "Ah, Commander Hill. Just the woman we wanted to see! And you brought Agent Coulson with you. Good." Langsdorf gestured to the man. "This is Agent Brandon Trent."

Agent Trent smiled cordially and held his hand out.

Maria and Phil ignored him completely. "I want to know on what grounds did you fire Director Fury," the former said, demandingly.

Councilman Jackson sighed heavily. He figured this would happen sooner or later. "On the grounds of being unable to perform his duties as SHIELD director to a satisfactory level."

Maria snorted derisively. "Please. Director Fury may have been an ass at times, but he got the job done. Period."

Phil nodded from behind her. "And, if that was what this was about, then why weren't Commander Hill and I consulted? We, probably out of everyone else here, have had the closest contact with Director Fury."

"We had already consulted with several agents on Fury's performance during the Masters of Evil crisis," LaRue answered, with a small hint of annoyance.

Phil narrowed his eyes. He didn't recall hearing anything about any agents being consulted in regards to Fury's job review. "Which agents?"

"Classified," LaRue answered, her annoyance growing with each word she had to utter.

"At what level?" Hill demanded.

"Ten. Is that all, Agents Hill and Coulson?"

Classified at Level Ten? What the hell for? What exactly do they have to hide from Level Nine agents, namely Hill? "No, that isn't all. I want to know why you didn't consult Hill and I, as well. Surely you'd think that we would speak frankly and honestly."

"Hey now." Trent interposed himself between the agents and councilmembers. "They answered your questions as best that they could. We all wanted Fury to remain, but it just wasn't possible."

Hill flicked her eyes toward the older man for the first time, giving him a real look over. His graying black hair was gelled and styled in a way that made him look about ten or fifteen years younger. There weren't many wrinkles on his, admittedly, handsome face. He probably spent the majority of his time in Administration at the Triskelion. His black suit was pressed and well fitted, and his shoes were so shiny that she could see her reflection in them.

She nodded. "Fine." She turned her attention from Trent to the councilmembers. "If we're to work together in the future, then we need to be on the up and up with each other."

"You'll be at Level Ten, so it's no problem," Coulson noted.

At that, Langsdorf looked at him strangely. "What are you two talking about?"

Hill raised an eyebrow. "My being promoted to director. It's in the protocol."

LaRue shook her head. "We told Fury that we were going in a different direction with SHIELD. Promoting one of _his_ people would be leading it in the _same_ direction."

"The very direction," Jackson added, "that led to SHIELD being embarrassed and decimated by Hydra, might I remind you."

Hill really, really didn't like what she had just heard, but she concealed it behind her mask of rigid professionalism. "I see. Then, if not me, or Coulson, then who?"

At that, Trent cleared his throat. "Allow me to _re_introduce myself. Brandon Trent. _Director_ Brandon Trent." He, once again, held his hand out for a handshake.

Hill just looked at him, a jarring mixture of confusion and anger plastered on her face. "…what?"

"You… _you're_ the new director?" Coulson tried to wrap his head around this. They had passed over several capable agents, all of whom had spent time with Fury and knew what it took, and had what it took in his opinion, to succeed him.

"I am," Trent answered while tucking his twice rejected hand away in his pants pocket.

"What are his credentials?" Hill said, again gaining a demanding edge to her voice.

"None of your concern, Deputy Director Hill. Now then, if you'll excuse us." Jackson tried to leave, but Hill blocked his path. "Is there _another_ problem, Agent Hill?"

"Yes, actually," she replied as calmly as possible, considering how absolutely livid she was. "It has only been thirty minutes since the review began, and you already have a replacement lined up for appointment."

"I like neither your tone nor what you're insinuating, Agent Hill," Langsdorf said, an angry edge biting his words.

"Maria, let's go," Coulson said. He gently touched her shoulder and pulled her away.

Hill allowed him to drag her away. She flashed a dangerous smile at the councilmembers and Director Trent that lasted until the door closed behind them. "Unbe-fucking-lievable!"

"Have you lost your mind, Maria?" Coulson reprimanded. "Have you forgotten that they are our bosses and _can_ and _will_ fire us if they so choose to?"

"They need Fury's approv– _Goddammit_!" She stormed into the coffee room, where Carter and Melinda May were enjoying the silence over a cup of coffee for the former and green tea for the latter.

"I take it that the meeting didn't go well," Sharon asked knowingly. Her eyebrows raised into her hairline as she watched Hill angrily make a cup of coffee. Black.

"Didn't go well is an understatement, I think," Phil said. He sighed heavily and also made himself a cup, albeit much more calmly than Maria.

"Have you heard of Brandon Trent?" she asked Sharon.

Sharon paused to think. "Ah, yeah, I have. Level Seven. Smart, like really smart. I don't mean like the Reed Richards kind of smart, but like… Fury smart."

"He's street wise," Melinda clarified.

Maria slammed her mug down. "_LEVEL SEVEN_?! They replaced Fury with a Level _Seven_ agent?!" she roared in absolute disbelief.

Sharon cocked her head back, a look of nonplussed surprise on her face.

"_Exactly_." Maria took a swig of coffee and sighed angrily. "And those jackass councilmembers didn't have the balls to tell us who they consulted with to come up with this bullshit decision."

"None of us, that's for sure." Sharon tapped her chin in thought. "He wasn't in there for long, come to think of it. His performance review after the Battle of Manhattan was, what, two hours?"

Maria nodded. "Hell, mine was an hour. This was bigger than that and he was in there for, what fifteen, twenty minutes tops? Something isn't right, here."

"Maria, you cannot be serious," Phil said, exasperated.

"I am dead serious. I have never, in my _entire_ life, been more serious about _anything_. Ever."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating," Melinda said between sips of tea.

"Even if I am, I'm not wrong about this. Something is up. I can feel it."

"What you feel is anger over a person you, and all of us, looked up to." Melinda set her cup down and folded her hands on the table. "Like him or hate him, we all knew we could depend on Nick. This new guy, Trent, we don't know him as well. I myself talked with him maybe four times when I was assigned here."

Sharon nodded. "I've maybe spoken with him a dozen times, and I've been here my entire career."

"That being said, we need to accept this for what it is. Regardless of how scary it might seem." With that, she stood and, after placing her empty cup in the sink, walked out.

Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Was it so hard for May to give a straight answer? Hill shook her head. She wasn't going to let this go. Something was up. She could feel it.


	3. The New Top Cop

_**The New Top Cop**_

It didn't take long, maybe a day or so, for Fury's dismissal to make full rounds throughout SHIELD. To the surprise of no one, the vast majority didn't like it. Fury was a good guy, despite his many faults. He got the job done, and only kept around people who got their particular jobs done.

They didn't think that it was fair that he had to take the ax for what they all saw as the Avengers' failure. The Masters of Evil and Hydra were more prepared for the Avengers than any of them thought possible. They had counters for pretty much every move they could have made. They wittled them down bit by bit until, on that fateful day, it all ended.

None of that could have been laid at Fury's feet. None of it.

Apparently, the World Security Council felt differently. Thus, out with Nick Fury and in with Brandon Trent, the 44 year old Level Seven administrative agent from Baltimore, Maryland. He was a quiet man, who mostly kept to himself whenever possible and kept conversations short when it wasn't. Not to say that he wasn't friendly, he just wasn't the outgoing type.

Still, as anyone who had spoken or worked with him would quickly attest to, he intelligent. Both academically and street wise. They would also say that he was insightful. He noticed things; everything around him was noticed.

It was for those reasons, among many others, that the Council decided to promote Trent to director.

When he gave he first address to the assembled SHIELD agents, he was booed. There were some 'We want Fury!' chants echoing from the back of the assembly hall. Hardly anyone wanted to give him a chance.

He expected this. They were, after all, Fury's kids.

**The Hub – Location Classified**

**Two Days Later**

Director Brandon Trent strode confidently down the halls of the Hub, the mission control within SHIELD's hierarchy. As he passed, he noticed the looks of distrust or outright dislike from the agents and scientists. He figured that that would happen. It was only a couple of days since he was hired to replace the fired Nick Fury. The man may not have been the most popular person in the building at any given time, but they knew that they could trust him to do what was in the best interest of the world at large. He made a lot of enemies in the process with that line of thought, including the WSC.

In truth, it was only a matter of time before he got canned. Everyone with at least a half functioning brain could see it coming with the way he constantly butted heads with his superiors on an almost daily basis. No, they didn't always make the most popular decisions, but they always thought in the best interest of humankind. The Masters of Evil and the deaths of the Avengers were just the last straw.

It should have come as no surprise, given how fast and loose he played with the rules. Members of the same task force being allowed to engage in inappropriate relationships, many of which he knew about. He spent millions of dollars designated for other, more important endeavors in a, albeit successful, bid to resurrect _one_ dead agent. While it worked, it didn't excuse the callous disregard for the protocols in place.

Another was him taking in not one, not two, but _four_ former criminals. One was an assassin for a communist organization, two were mutant terrorists and the fourth was a _fucking Hydra agent_. Not former, but at the time, current. No wonder he had so many double agents in the organization during his watch.

But, that was all in the past now. Fury was gone, as were soon to be those that weren't willing to get with the program. He was the new sheriff in town; anyone who didn't like that was going to be hitting the bricks to look for a new job. To himself, he hoped no one would leave; at least not the higher level agents. The organization was still reeling from the Masters of Evil and Hydra. They needed stability to guide them during this time of upheaval.

He stopped at a sealed door and removed his ID card from his wallet. Scanning it, he then bent down slightly to allow the eye scanner to scan his retina. "Welcome… Director Trent," the security guard greeted, as if he still couldn't believe he was saying it.

Trent nodded sharply and strode through the doors into the secured lab section of the Hub. He was to meet with Agent Victoria Hand, director of the Hub in ten minutes. Punctuality as a vital key in gaining respect of new subordinates, especially since he was new. On the flip side, being too punctual didn't allow them enough time to prepare, which was just rude.

As soon as he reached her office, he took a seat near her door and waited. While he waited, he dialed his deputy director. "Agent Hill."

He heard her sigh heavily, one full of restrained annoyance. "Director Trent."

"Schedule a meeting with all agents level eight and higher. There are things that we need to straighten out."

"Yes sir. I'll set up the video conference for those out of the country."

"Thank you. I'm at the Hub now, so I'll tell Hand personally." He hung up and stood when Hand's door opened. "Ah."

"Director Trent." There wasn't an ounce of animosity or hidden dislike in voice, only the clipped tones of professionalism. It was, frankly, refreshing to not be hated right off the bat.

"Agent Hand. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." They shook hands firmly, and then he followed her into her office.

"And the same to you, Director. I've heard many things about you, ranging from positive to not so much. I decided that I wanted to have a look at you for myself."

Trent nodded knowingly and suppressed the sigh threatening to leak out. Showing that these people were getting to him already would undoubtedly lead her to believe that he was soft, had thin skin and wasn't cut out for the job. None of which was true. "Let's hope I make a good impression."

"Quite." She leaned forward and clasped her hands together on top of her desk, her expression expectant.

"Now, the main reason I came here was to inquire of the location(s) of a few things. Not the least of which is Pym's robot, Ultron?" He waited for her confirming nod before continuing. "I need to know where it's being held."

"The Icebox in Antarctica," she answered with no hesitation. "It's a holding facility normally for dangerous metahumans like the Abomination, but Ultron's being kept there because it's so isolated."

Trent smiled and nodded. That was one thing off his list of things to worry about. "Okay, great. What about… Loki's scepter?"

"In a containment field here at the Hub. We're keeping it here until a representative of Asgard can come and pick it up."

Trent knew a bad thing when he heard it, and that was definitely a bad thing. He didn't want any more of those damned aliens stepping foot on this planet. "Is it Asgardian in nature?" She paused, then shook her head tentatively. "Well, I don't see how they have any more claim over it than we do. Since it belongs to neither us nor them, and it's here on Earth, I say finders keepers." He chuckled softly.

She didn't smile, but did tilt her head curiously. "You'll need to explain that to whoever they send down here. Presumably Valkryie since she has a connection with SHIELD through the New Avengers."

He hummed softly and scooted forward in his chair to rest his hands on her desk. "I'm glad you mentioned them. I would like that team disbanded, as quickly as possibly."

Victoria faltered visibly. "Ah… but, uh… sir, they saved the world not a week and a half ago. If it wasn't for them, we would probably be working for Hydra right now."

Trent smirked. "You're right. But, we don't need them now, do we?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "No, we don't. And we won't need them again. I have a great idea for Ultron. I just need to get it here from Antarctica as soon as possible."

Victoria's head shook from side to side slowly, as if trying to come to terms with what she had just heard. "If that's your decision, sir. I'll make the call at the Icebox and tell them to get the shipment ready."

"Very good. And that brings me to my second reason for meeting with you today. Your replacement will be arriving tomorrow morning."

She stared at him through her black rimmed glasses, her brown eyes wide with surprise. "…I'm sorry?"

"Agent Pablo Escobar. I've appointed him the new Hub director."

Her mouth moved with unspoken arguments and rebuttals, but not a sound was actually uttered. "…I'm sorry?"

"Relax, you'll still have job. You'll be a roaming agent, moving from the helicarrier to the Triskelion, maybe even back here. Victoria, I was briefed on you and others yesterday, and I must say I was very impressed with your résumé. Your performance and leadership here is exactly what I'm looking for in a senior agent."

She nodded once, face as rosy as it was five minutes ago. "Thank you for the compliment, sir. Since I don't have any time to consider, I'll just accept." Despite her professional tone, which was more clipped than it was before, her eyes told of restrained annoyance.

Trent nodded. "Good. Most likely, you'll spend most of your time on the Helicarrier." He looked at his watch and sighed deeply. "Well, looks like I'll have to cut things short. I have a meeting to attend." He stood and held his hand out. "Agent Hand, again, it's been a real pleasure."

She also stood and took the hand. "The same, Director Trent."

With one final nod, he strolled out of her office, a jaunty tune passing through his lips. One thing down, only a million and a half more to go.


	4. Just Give it Some Time

_**A/N: **__Thanks a lot got the feedback, guys. I really appreciate it._

_**Just Give it Some Time**_

**Triskelion – Washington, DC**

**That Afternoon**

Coulson walked through the sterilized halls of the Triskelion, head down and hands in his pockets. Trent hadn't been director for two days and he was already making sweeping changes to not only the protocol, but SHIELD itself. He was reassigning people, many of whom had been at the stations for years or even decades, to other positions and replacing them with his people.

This was quickly becoming a 'Fury's People vs Trent's People' deal and he really didn't like it. SHIELD was an organization based on trust, yes. It was easier to trust people that one has known for years, rather than waste time gaining the trust of people one has never met. But all this upheaval and changing right off the bat… it was too much and he didn't like it.

Maybe he was old. He was getting up there in age, after all. Old people didn't like sudden changes, he thought.

A soft sigh breeze from his lips. _I'm not __that__ old, am I?_ he questioned himself. Well, he was almost fifty, so not quite old enough to be a curmudgeon. No, these were changes that a young, spry person would hate. Young, spry people like Agent Grant Ward.

He and Ward spoke at length the night before about Fury and what Hill implied was going on with the WSC. He agreed with Hill, much to Coulson's surprise. It seemed that what he felt was just knee-jerk propaganda, a lot of other people felt made a lot of sense.

Maybe it was just him. He believed in the system, SHIELD's system, with everything he had. He truly felt that everything that happened meant something. People were let go by SHIELD every single day because they weren't good at their jobs. In this time, in this current situation, there was neither time nor room for hidden agendas and axes to grind. They all needed to be on the same page, and moving in the same direction if they were to recover from Hydra's attacks in something resembling a timely manner.

He figured that the Council was going to initiate a lot of changes to the protocol to prevent it from happening again. Apparently, big changes, if what Trent was doing was any indication. If they were on the same page (and he was their guy, so probably they were), then Fury would have fought with them on a lot of it.

As much as it pained him to say, times like this were the best times for changes in management. Even if Fury got the job done, as had been preached ad nauseum over the last few days, he got it done at too steep a cost this time.

While he agreed that it may have been time for a change (he didn't know what the Council knew, so he left that to their judgment), something about promoting Trent to director didn't sit well with him. It wasn't that he didn't like getting passed over, which he suspected was Hill's problem all along. He was Level Eight, and had seniority over a lot of agents at SHIELD, Trent included. It wasn't that he was hired, but how quickly he was hired.

Normally, and he could only speculate as this was the first time this had occurred at SHIELD (Peggy Carter retired and Fury was her Deputy), it would take a few days, maybe weeks, to find the right fit for Director. It was an important position. Every decision the director made could have either saved or ended lives. It was a big deal.

He wasn't sure that a Level Seven administrative agent who, to his knowledge, had never seen action before was ready or even able to make those kind of decisions.

Again, that made Hill's supposed problem with being passed over more valid, outside of seniority.

Speaking of Hill, he found her walking out of one of the conference rooms. "Hi."

She looked him over tiredly and inclined her head. "I was just about to start looking for you. Trent wants all Level Eight and higher agents to meet for some kind of meeting." She yawned softly. "About something or another."

He nodded and smiled wryly. "I heard. You look tired."

"Because I am. I've been picking up his slack for the last few days while he dots off to who knows where to replace more of Nick's people with his own. You hear that he replaced Hand?"

At that, Coulson raised an intrigued eyebrow. "No, I hadn't. Where will she be now?"

"Right here, or the helicarrier. Basically, with us from now on."

His eyebrow lowered and creased into a frown. "That's… not good. She was good at keeping things organized. Can't do that here."

The Triskelion was a bureaucracy, through and through. While a lot of other things happened, it was where the suits reigned supreme. Victoria was a control freak, for lack of a better term. She belonged in mission control, where she was in control of everything, not a bureaucracy, where she would be handcuffed by forms and signatures.

"Preaching to the choir, Phil. Let's hope this new guy is as good."

"Wait, she isn't even going to show him the ropes?" Usually, it made sense for the new person to shadow the incumbent for a few weeks to learn the how-to's of the position. It was how Carter handled Fury. It made sense, too much sense, for Trent to shadow Hill for a bit, so he could see how it was done.

"Nope."

That made no sense. Everything was going to be all screwed up and confusing, more than it was already. "When can we expect her?"

"Tomorrow morning, I think. That new guy will be starting around the same time." Hill stopped short and tapped her Bluetooth comm link. "Hill."

_=Commander Hill, the New Avengers have arrived in the lobby,=_ a female agent reported. _=Also, Director Trent is inbound. ETA is fifteen minutes. He would like to speak to the team.=_

"Got it. Thanks." Hill dropped her hand roughly, causing it to slap against her thigh. "Great."

"Now what?" Coulson asked warily.

"The Avengers are in the lobby, and Trent is incoming. Knowing that jerk, he's probably going to reassign them to janitorial duty," Hill replied with a rare joke.

Coulson chuckled mirthfully and followed his colleague to the lobby.

As they walked, he sighed heavily. "It's just –"

"Just what, Phil?"

"There are a lot of changes happening at once, and I don't like them any less than you don't, but… I think it's because it's happening all at once. It's like taking a bandage off. You do it all at once and you ruin it; it needs to happen gradually, you know."

That really didn't make any sense, but he hoped she got his poorly conveyed point.

She did. "Yeah, I see. So what?"

"I think we should give this some time before we decide whether to call it quits."

Her lips quirked into an angry moue. "Who said anything about –?"

"No one," he answered quickly. "I can see it on your face, however. This… isn't what any of us expected, and there a chance we could become disenchanted with the system. I just want to wait awhile before I let that happen. To either of us."

Hill mumbled something incoherent under her breath.

"And," he continued, "this isn't the first time this happened. When Fury succeeded Carter almost three decades ago, he made changes, as well. Before, we were in close contact with various agencies; MI-13, FBI, CIA, Interpol, etc. Once Fury took over, that all stopped. We became more secretive, more clandestine, almost completely in the shadows. They didn't like it, the complete opaqueness we had with our methods and intel, but it worked out, didn't it?"

To that, Hill had to agree. "But, he didn't go around replacing long time agents to other posts and assignments, did he? It didn't turn into 'Carter's people vs Fury's people', did it?"

Coulson sighed. "No, it didn't. She retired, so everything was all on good terms. The point is not everything was accepted right away. There was some resistance because a lot of agents were accustomed to doing things a certain way. Once Fury came along and said, 'No. We aren't doing it _that_ way anymore. We do it _this_ way now', there was some bristled people."

Just like now went unsaid.

"After awhile, once we all got accustomed to the new way of handling things, we all calmed down and got back to work as if nothing had changed. I think the same can happen again. Just give it some time, is all I'm asking."

Hill sighed tersely. She knew the story, having heard it from Fury repeatedly. She knee that Coulson was right. "Fine. Six months."

Coulson smiled. "Great. I know it'll be tough, but I think this will work out. Don't lose your passion for the job because of some uncomfortable changes. We need you here, Maria. More than you know."

Hill felt her face soften. "Phil…"

"Don't get all weepy-eyed on me, Hill," he chided playfully with an added wink.

Hill rolled her eyes.


	5. Saviors of the World

_**Saviors of the World**_

Hill and Coulson strode casually into the lobby of the Triskelion. The debris from the New Avengers fight with the Masters of Evil's goons had been cleared out a few days ago, but the structural damage hadn't been addressed yet. Cracks and craters in the walls and floors still marked the otherwise smooth metal walls.

Unlike that day a week and a half ago, it was abuzz with busy agents flitting to and from their respective assignments. That was one thing that would never change, no matter how many adjustments Trent made.

"Hey, it's Maria and Coulson from the Hill and Phil Show."

Hill sighed tersely as the annoyance known as Peter Parker, dressed as the somehow even more irritating Spider-Man, directed his team's attention toward them. One would think that saving the world from certain tyranny and enslavement would have made him mature a little. Nope. "Shut it. Avengers."

"Agent Hill." Rhodes, who was apparently the leader when Bobbi, who was still bedridden from her encounter with Viper, wasn't around. Given what he had done to him by cyborg-zombie Stark, she was kind of surprised to see him back on his feet already. "We were told Fury wanted to meet with us."

Hill stopped just short of five yards from them and raised an eyebrow. "Fury?"

Janet nodded slowly. "Well, they said the Director, so…" She took a cursory glance around at the damage done to the lobby. "You boys sure did a number on this place." She playfully jabbed Scott in the ribs with her elbow.

Luke just shrugged. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He was let go," Hill answered easily enough. She wasn't surprised by their reactions. As in, they didn't really have one outside of the initial shock. The only one who really would have one was Barnes, and being a SHIELD agent, he already knew. "The new Director will be here soon, if you'll follow me to the conference room."

They walked in silence, and allowed the ambient white noise from the surrounding agents and their activities to fill the empty air. "Guess Fury rolled the dice one too many times," Danny said with a verbal shrug.

Hill didn't want to admit it, but she agreed. And, while she expected such, she was a little annoyed at their lack of reaction. While she didn't expect them to be marching in parking lot outside with picket signs and 'We want Fury!' chants, she did expect just a little more than apathy. She had to quickly remind herself that these were the original Avengers. This bunch spent maybe a week, at best, in the same general area as Fury, and only an hour in actual contact with him at most. "Guess so."

She led them into a conference room. This one, unlike the one where Fury's job died, was well lit and contain only one table with a dozen chairs around it. Otherwise, it was empty. The walls were barren, except for the lone SHIELD symbol emblazoned on the wall across from the door.

"Is SHIELD too cheap to shell out for some décor?" Jen asked with a sigh.

"Alright, listen up," Hill said once they were seated around the table. "I don't know what Director Trent wants with you all, but I have my guesses. To be blunt, SHIELD is barely a shell of its former self. We've taken a lot of shots over the last month. We've lost a lot of people."

"Good people," Coulson added somberly.

Hill nodded on agreement. "We need you guys more than you need us. At least until we can get back on our feet. The bad guys are still out there, and they see that SHIELD is weak. As I speak, a power struggle is just about finishing up at AIM, and the villains of the week are grouping up. Not to mention Hydra. We need you all to keep them at bay until we're back at something close to full strength. Okay?"

The team looked at each other, each one appraising the others' facial reactions. "Alright, whatever we can do to help," Rhodes said. "But, we'll need a few things."

"Transparency. What you guys know, we need to know. So we can be prepared, you know," Luke started.

"And Quinjets. At least two, maybe three if you can spare them," Monica followed.

"And one of those fancy Insight carriers," Janet finished.

Hill blinked for a beat, then regained her composure. Other than transparency, which was… not smart, yet understandable, their demands weren't too bad. "You'll have to run that by the Director when he gets here." If it were up to her, she would have let them have it. Anything to keep them on their side.

"When will he be arriving anyway?"

"I'm right here." Trent walked in, fresh from his trip to the Hub and meeting with Victoria Hand. He stopped on front of the table and looked over the team, hands in his pockets and a smile on his lips. "I'm Brandon Trent, new SHIELD Director. It's a pleasure and honor to meet you all."

They murmured amongst themselves for a moment. "Yeah, nice to meet you, as well, Trent," Luke said. "So, Hill was just telling us that you all need us to keep the bad guys in their place while you all build back up. We're game."

At that, Trent looked at Hill and frowned. "Did she now?"

"Yes. And , thinking about it, she's right, sir," Bucky answered. "SHIELD is weak, and we have the most powerful meta on the planet not named Banner."

"Oh, stop," Monica said dismissively, sounding a little embarrassed.

He shrugged. "It's true. Plus, we have new allies in Asgard, if things get too tough for us."

"Asgard." The word rolled off his tongue with a hint of disdain and mistrust. "I assume Valkryie, right?" After receiving a nod of confirmation, he continued, "I'd prefer if she just stayed on Asgard. Her and her little _friends_."

Bucky frowned. "She's an Avenger, sir. She helped us save the world."

"Yeah, she deserves to be right here with us," Danny added. "Besides, it isn't very fair to let Loki and the Enchantress color your perception of them. After all, Thor and Valkryie were good people."

"That's _your_ opinion," Trent responded. "As for you, I wish Hill would've waited until I got here." He sighed and rubbed his eyes for a moment. "The point is… you have heard of Ultron, right?"

They looked at each other. "Pym's robot, right?" Luke asked.

"Right. It's being flown in from Antarctica as we speak. My plan is to use the Sentinel factories that you thankfully didn't burn to the ground to create drones that we'll be able to control. They, with Ultron, will be our global police force."

Hill, from behind him, nodded appreciatively. "Fury, about six days go, annexed the factories and ordered that they be repaired. This is his plan."

"Right."

"Well, sounds like you have a plan in motion, Director Trent." Rhodes paused for a moment and appeared to be thinking something over. "So, are we the interim police force in the meantime?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, where do we come in?"

"You don't, actually."

Rhodes raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"It means, Colonel, that SHIELD has no need for the Avengers. Especially not now, with Ultron and its drones soon to be hitting the scene." With that, and seeing that in their stunned silence, they weren't going to respond, he slipped into the chair in front of him and leaned forward against the table. "Listen, we deeply appreciate what you did for us against the Masters. However, SHIELD was revealed to be weak because we relied on the Avengers. If we rely on you, and something happens to you, God forbid, we'd be up a creek without a paddle."

Hill was stunned.

Coulson was livid.

"What, you plan on depending on an army of robots?" Peter asked angrily. "Yeah, that totally hasn't failed in the past."

"This isn't a movie, Mr. Parker. This is a very real possibility. All things considered, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to disband the New Avenger Initiative."

"That's not fair!"

"This is the thanks we get?!"

"Yeah! We pull your asses out of the fire and you kick us to the curb! The hell kind of fucked up shit is that?!"

Trent just shrugged. "Sorry. My decision is final. If it'll make it up to you, I can arrange for a series of parades to be thrown in your honor," he offered.

"Fuck you _and_ your fucking parades with a chainsaw!" With a huff, Monica stormed out, followed by her grumbling teammates.

Trent watched then leave, and sighed when the last one filed out. "Well," he said with a small smile, "they took that better than I thought."

She didn't want to admit it, but Hill was actually afraid for what was going to come next.


	6. Level Eight Address

_**Level Eight Address**_

"Give it some time, he says! It'll all work out for the best, he says!" Hill was, once again, livid. Not because she actually liked the New Avengers; she really didn't have a reason to. She did _respect_ them, however. Her deal was that they needed that team to keep them from being overrun by villains for the next few weeks while those drones were constructed. She knew it, Coulson knew it, and Trent knew it. "What a load of bullshit, I say!"

Hill stormed into the break room, which had long since become her haven, ever since her tenure as Fury's deputy began, and made herself a cup of coffee.

Also in the break room was level five field agent Daisy Johnson. A twenty-something year old woman with short, raven hair and a youthful face, Johnson was handpicked by Fury to be a pending member of a new task force called the Secret Warriors. They were to be responsible for handling the wetworks assignments the STRIKE team and other specialists couldn't handle. Namely, metahuman.

Johnson blinked and watched her superior officer loom dangerously over the coffee machine, lips muttering unheard curses. "Commander Hill, is everything okay?"

Hill whirled around, her stern expression not softening an iota when she realized who it was. "No," she answered shortly. Her lips touched the lip of the filled coffee mug and allowed a flow of the bitter liquid to enter. She wasn't going to try and claim that coffee had some kind of calming properties like that green tea stuff. She was just an addict. Came with the territory.

Before Johnson could ask what happened, Trent poked his head in. "Deputy Hill, that meeting?"

"Conference room ten," she answered tersely. She didn't see him nod, but heard his dress shoes tapping against the floor until the sound faded into the mix of ambient chatter.

"Meeting?" Johnson inquired.

"Level Eight and up," she answered, a bit more patiently this time around. She gulped down the rest of her drink and placed the mug in the sink. Before she left, she stopped and glanced at Johnson. _She's Fury's girl._

She recalled hearing Fury go on and on about how able and efficient Johnson was as she shot her way up to leader of her black ops team. She ran one mission with the kid and saw exactly what he was talking about. She was one of Fury's. That meant Trent was going to be on her like a hawk. "Be on your best behavior," she said – not in a motherly, nagging way, but as a caution.

Johnson nodded solemnly.

Hill weaved through the halls, bumping past busy agents. She paid them no mind. They figured it was her natural ice cold demeanor. While she didn't mind that perception of her at times, it wasn't the case this time. Her mind was focusing on what Trent had to say to her contemporaries.

Once an agent reached Level Eight, they had a lot of pull within SHIELD. It was crucial that he win their respect through one manner or another if he was to have any kind of success and a lengthy tenure.

Hill walked into the conference room. Immediately, she scanned the agents inside. Felix Black and Jasper Sitwell, she knew. A lot of them, she only had a passing acquaintance with. Along the walls, there were nearly two dozen holographic screens displaying the faces of several more agents.

Hill took a seat in the front. While she wanted to sit somewhere in the back, it was probably for the best if she sat where Trent could see her. To give him a friendly face to look at.

Carter and Coulson walked in and sat at either side of her. Sitwell walked over. Hill looked him over and gave him a sharp nod. "Sitwell. How are you feeling?"

Since it was found out that Sitwell was under the influence of Loki's staff, SHIELD psychologists had been keeping a close eye on him, much the same way they did with Barton. She was thoroughly surprised that they cleared him for field work so quickly.

"Better, thanks for asking," he answered. He calmly sat down next to Coulson. "Better, now that I'm freed from Viper. Less I see of that stupid staff, the better."

She nodded. "Good to have you back on the right side."

Sitwell glanced back and saw Hand's tired and subtly annoyed face on one of the screens. He leaned into Coulson. "It true that Hand'll be working here from now on?"

"And the helicarrier, when it's finished," he whispered like a gossiping schoolgirl.

"Did you hear who he's replacing her with? Pablo Escobar," Carter informed with a barely stifled snicker.

Sitwell chuckled softly. "What an unfortunate name. He isn't Colombian, right?"

"Luckily, he's Venezuelan. He's only Level Seven, too."

Coulson quirked an eyebrow. Other than the drug kingpin of the same name, he hadn't heard of this particular agent. "Where was he originally posted?"

"The Sandbox," Carter answered.

Hill could only assume that his replacement was going to be one of Trent's people.

Speaking of the devil, Trent walked in casually, followed by the same redheaded registrar from Fury's review a few days ago. "Good afternoon, everyone. I'm glad you all could either attend, or take out the time from assignments abroad to meet with me."

Monosyllabic greetings rumbled from the assembled agents.

Trent flashed a tight lipped, slightly nervous smile and scanned the room. His eyes zeroed in on Hill. As she suspected, she was his focal point.

"First, I'd like to commend each and every one of you for your commitment to the system. Without it, nothing we do would be possible. I've been at SHIELD for twenty years. I've seen the system in action. I believe in it with everything I have.

"Nick Fury believed in the system. What he _didn't_ believe in was the protocol. When it suited him, he broke it with impunity. Might I remind you, before you start rolling your eyes, that he not only allowed an _active_ communist assassin to join our ranks, but also an _active_ agent of _Hydra_." He paused to allow that to sink in.

Hill noticed Coulson's jaw tightening.

"Not only that, but he allowed these two women, who both, for their crimes, deserved a bullet to the head, to join the Avengers – the team of unstable metahumans that were to serve as our champions. Also, he allowed a pair of terrorists, the children of Magneto – the racist mutant terrorist – to join, as well. And that's not even mentioning the Hulk.

"And granted, they did good things, like defeating Loki and the Chituari invasion, but not without massive damage to Manhattan. And they defended the world for over a year, until they couldn't. When they were killed by the Masters, Fury's plan blew up in his face. We relied on a team of metahumans – and _only_ a team of metahumans – to defend and do the things we weren't able to and logically, that didn't make sense.

"He didn't have backup plan already in motion. When he initiated the New Avengers Initiative, the Council initially wanted to refuse. Because he was banking on yet another team of metahumans, many of which were used to working alone, and two of which weren't even trained, except by Hydra. He was banking on catching lightning in a bottle twice. And he did, _only_ because of the Insight minicarrier. Without that, I doubt they win.

"The point I'm trying to make is that we _have got to_ do things differently. We _cannot_ continue to do the things that got us not only exposed to the world, but weakened to the point of folding in on ourselves. It just wouldn't make any sense. That's why I'm making the changes that I've been making. Moving agents around, disbanding the New Avengers; soon, I'll ask the Council to move to make teams like the Fantastic Four, Heroes for Hire and the X-Men to cooperate fully with SHIELD or we'll cut ties with them, as well. We can't continue to rely on these metahuman teams to defend the world _we_ all swore to protect. When every one of us took the SHIELD oath upon graduating from the Academy, we swore to protect this world. To me, depending on other people to do that sounds like _we_ can't do _our_ jobs.

"If they don't want to cooperate, they'll be phased out. My plan, which is already well in motion, is to use a fleet of drones based on the designs of the robot created by Dr. Hank Pym and Tony Stark. They'll be completely controlled by SHIELD's tech experts and deployed immediately using the reactionary emergency algorithm we've developed for Project Insight. The Ultron task force, along with the three Insight minicarriers, will be all that we need to eliminate threats, most of the time before they even happen."

Murmurs rippled in from amongst the agents. While she still didn't agree with his disbanding the team, she actually agreed with much of what he said.

"Think about it. And prepare to enter a new age where SHIELD is actually a shield and not a leash for unstable, frankly dangerous superhumans." With one final nod, he stepped out.

Once he was gone, Coulson sighed roughly. "Bullshit."

"I don't know, Phil," Sitwell said carefully.

"He was slut shaming Romanoff and Drew. And we _all_ know that the Maximoffs were forced and guilted into joining the Brotherhood." He, along with Hill, Carter and Sitwell, stood and walked out.

"Speaking objectively, he was right, though. They never did renounce their allegiances," Sitwell countered smoothly.

"Are you being serious right now? They renounced their allegiances when they started serving SHIELD for eight and five years. They saved the world many times, and I think they earned our implicit trust and respect many times over. And now, we're just supposed to forget all of that because they were killed?"

"Regardless," Carter said in a bid to calm things down, "he's right. We can't depend on metahumans to do our jobs for us."

"So, we just depend on a bunch of robots."

Sitwell shrugged. "Robots are easier to control."

"_Exactly_."

Hill sighed. So much for wanting to give it some time. It was small, but Phil's unstated reason for dismissing the Ultron idea gave her a suspicion that it was going to backfire. Only time would tell.


	7. Ultron

_**Ultron**_

**Two Weeks Later**

Trent said that there would be more changes to SHIELD, and he meant it. The day after his address to the Level Eight and up agents, Victoria Hand began her tenure at the Triskelion. It became quickly evident that she was there to keep things organized during the transition.

She excelled, Coulson had to admit.

In the weeks that followed, bureaucracy moved at an increased pace. While it took days for forms, sometimes maybe even a week, for forms and requests to be filled before, now it only took a couple of days at most. Mission reports were reviewed with more urgency. Agent relations were handled with more care.

Things were running _more_ smoothly, which was something Coulson didn't think was possible.

Two weeks into Trent's tenure SHIELD director, he introduced the first fleet of Ultron drones. The twenty robots were sleek and robust, fierce and formidable, and scary looking. Their heads, menacing and threatening with their always open, seemingly evilly grinning mouths and frightening eyes – both of which were emanating an eerie blue glow like Stark's arc reactor – put him in the mind of the Iron Man helmet. Which made sense, since Stark did work on it. Figured that he would put his fingerprint somewhere in the overall aesthetic design.

"**Ultron Fleet Alpha ready to protect and serve!**" they said in unison. The agents were disturbed by their mechanical voice. It wasn't the smooth, charming accent that the world's first artificial intelligence, Jarvis, adopted. It was creepy, and sent chills up Coulson's spine.

"The way they're just staring at us, smiling… it's creepy," he said to Sitwell. The bespectacled agent agreed silently.

The very first Ultron fleet was twenty robots deep, yet the original Ultron was nowhere to be found. Coulson could have only hoped that it was because he was resolving some issue somewhere, as a sort of test run.

"You might be wondering where Ultron, the head honcho, is," Trent said, as if he had just read Coulson's mind. "He's in Central Park, handling some supervillain nonsense. Not a big deal." A holographic screen appeared behind him. It displayed the heads-up display for Ultron. "Let's see how he does."

* * *

**Central Park**

Supervillains Shocker, Vulture and the Rhino were attempting to escape Spider-Man after staging a successful robbery of the First National Bank. The were all members of the notorious supervillain group, the Sinister Six, one of the many villainous teams to crop up since the Masters of Evil. It made sense; why commit crimes solo and get caught when they could team up, do bigger crimes, split the profits and reduce their chances of getting beaten up by the heroes.

It made perfect sense, in a twisted sort of way.

A web suddenly blocked their path. "Hey, guys, I think you took the bank's money by accident," Spider-Man quipped as he leaped down in front of them. "It's an easy mistake, I know."

"Great, the webhead!" Shocker exclaimed. "Let's fry 'im!" The gauntlets on his forearms vibrated, and emitted a powerful wave of concussive force that barreled toward Spider-Man.

Peter, having played with these guys too many times to remember, casually flipped over the blast and shot a webball at the incoming Vulture. The ball splattered across his eyes, and while he fell to the ground, Peter trapped him in a web net to keep him occupied for a bit.

Rhino was about to charge in when they all suddenly stopped and looked skyward. "Hey, what's that?" he asked.

It sounded like a set of repulsors blazing toward them. That usually heralded the appearance of Iron Man or War Machine. It was neither.

Ultron slammed into the sidewalk a few yards from where the battle was taking place. Any civilians who were foolish enough to be standing around to get a glimpse of Spider-Man immediately took off running.

While his previous incarnation, his original form, was completely unremarkable, his current form was the antithesis. He was sleek, impressively built and slightly larger and more imposing than the drones. While they were built to be quickly and easily manufactured, he was built to last.

Ultron stared intently at Shocker, who was paralyzed with confusion. "Wha–"

Before he could finish, Ultron's arm rose and fired a repulsor ray. It slammed into Shocker's chin, knocking him completely unconscious before he skidded to a stopped almost twenty feet away. The robot did a half turn and took aim at the still blind and trapped Vulture. He didn't see the repulsor blast coming, but he heard it and managed to struggle against the web net a little before being struck and rendered unconscious.

Two down in a matter of seconds.

Rhino snarled and scraped his hoof against the sidewalk. "Ain't no tincan gonna take me out!" he roared angrily.

"_**Illogical,**_" was all Ultron said in a voice that was only _slightly_ more inviting, but definitely more human than his subordinates.

Rhino roared mightily and charged Ultron. The ground shook slightly with his thundering steps.

Calmly and devoid of emotion, Ultron lifted an arm and fired, not a repulsor, but a tranquilizer dart. It stuck just below his collarbone.

Rhino slowed to a halt and woozily stumbled to the ground with a loud thud.

_**"Fear not, citizens. Target has been neutralized," **_Ultron assured the remaining frightened civilians. He then turned and looked at Spider-Man. His eyes seemed to blink rapidly, and Peter as though he was being scanned by something. _**"Identity: Spider-Man. Thank you, but your assistance is no longer required. SHIELD Apprehension vehicles inbound. ETA: one minute, fourteen seconds."**_ With that, he rocketed into the air, presumably back toward the nearest functional SHIELD base.

Peter scratched the back of his head as he watched the machine leave. Just like that, with a speed he only bothered to utilize when really angry, he had defeat three of his more attention-worthy enemies. "You're welcome?"

* * *

The holographic screen went black and dissipated. Trent smirked and turned back to the assembled agents. "Well, how's that for a test run?"

This was the future of crime fighting in the world. Coulson could see it a from a mile away. If these drones were as quick and efficient as Ultron, which he had no reason to believe that they weren't, then there was going to be little tolerance for the collateral damage that superheroes were seemingly contractually obligated to cause while battling villains.

With SHIELD's resources and R&D to outfit them with the latest and greatest weapons, there may not have been any threat that these robots could topple. And for someone who believed in heroes with as much as he believed in the system, that was the worst prospect.

"I don't like this," he told Victoria once they reached her new office. Victoria was, of course, sitting behind her maple desk, and he was sitting on the corner.

"And why is that?" she asked. "He, that being Ultron, is much more efficient that any of us could have expected."

Coulson sighed. "It's just… heroes are human. And while that means they're imperfect and make mistakes – sometimes costly ones – they have things robots could never have. Like compassion, empathy, intuition. That's what made the Avengers so great – they were more than a task force or team. They were people. Ultron and his goon squad, they aren't people. They're machines."

The corners of her lips quirked upward for a moment. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a robophobe, Phil." She sighed and took her glasses off to rub her tired eyes. "The reason I, and many of us, prefer the robots is that they're easier to control. They follow orders to the letter, without lip, question or hesitation."

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a good thing."

"It's not always," she agreed. "But, sometimes it is." She knew that he was alluding to Manhattan not being anything but a smoldering crater if Ultron were there and not the Avengers. "If time is of the essence and lives are in danger, we can't afford to wait while a cape weighs the possible outcomes against their conscience to see if they're comfortable doing what needs to be done. Ultron has no conscience. He works by logic. Whichever decision he makes will be the right one. Stark guaranteed that."

Coulson sighed wearily. He knew, deep down, that Hand was right. It was just that he couldn't get behind it. "It's just too risky. There's too much of a chance that it could go wrong somehow."

Hand raised an eyebrow as she sat back in her chair and steeped her fingers together. "You're doubting Stark's genius and Pym's ambition?"

He sighed again, but didn't answer right away. Jarvis, Tony's greatest creation, was lightning in a bottle. A machine gaining sentience was dangerous, and they lucked out in Jarvis becoming so responsible and conscientious.

That being said, there was little reason to believe that it wouldn't happen again. But, at the same time, there was little reason to believe that it _would_ happen again, either. Ultron didn't have Stark and Potts' influences to guide him to maturity. He had SHIELD, which, admittedly, was the worst possible influence when it came to morality.

He licked his lips involuntarily before he answered. "No. I'm questioning whether this environment is the best place to cultivate a potential Jarvis 2.0, or the next Frank Castle."

Hand raised an eyebrow. "That's a… valid concern," she said frankly. "But, not one we can do anything about right at this moment. So stop worrying about it." She removed her phone from the hook and dialed a number. "If you'll excuse me."

"Of course." Coulson stood and walked out quietly. Hands in his pockets, he strode down the hall. All he could hear the agents he passed talking about was Ultron this and Ultron that. The thing had certainly made an impression with how it made quick work out of those villains.

Whether it was out of paranoia or just plain not wanting to accept that his heroes were quickly going out of style, he couldn't stop thinking about all the ways it could have gone wrong.


	8. Preparing for War

_**Preparing for War**_

**Two Weeks ****Later**

Two of the three Sentinel factories that the Mandarin used to create his mechanical army were being used to manufacture the Ultron drones. Together, they were grinding out twenty-five each a day. In the two weeks since the debut of Ultron and his army, SHIELD had over seven hundred drones at their disposal.

That was more than enough, Trent thought, but, it never hurt to have some backups. Better safe than sorry, as the old saying went. With the world seemingly filled to the brim with dangerous, powerful supervillains, some of the drones were bound to be destroyed beyond repair. And instead of just wasting money repairing and making needed maintenance checks, they could just replace old, damage drones with newer, more efficient models.

It was why Trent preferred to use the Ultron fleet as opposed to a team of superheroes. Heroes weren't expendable. They were people with families and lives that depended on them. He wasn't so cold toward them that he refused to see that.

Ultron _was_ expendable. If they were damaged in any way, or destroyed, it was no trouble at all to replace them.

Trent placed his pen back in its holder on his desk and leaned back in time to see Hand walking in. "Agent Hand. What do you have me today?" he greeted with an expectant smile.

"A report from the building committee." She placed the folder in front of him, which he immediately opened and began reading.

He didn't like what he saw. Most of the bases that were attacked by Hydra, over 70% to be exact, weren't salvageable. Burned completely to the ground. Of the 30% that were able to be salvaged, half were almost complete and the remaining half would be in the next few weeks. Only fourteen operable bases wasn't good enough. Even if the Insight Carriers were to be launched in two days, they still needed forces on the ground for quick response in key areas.

Accompanying the report was a world map, with red dots peppered across it to represent said operable bases. As he feared, they were scattered across the globe, in randomly obscure places. "Great," he sighed.

"Sir, I don't have to tell you that fourteen bases worldwide normally wouldn't be enough. However, with the Insight carriers soon to be launched, and Ultron, I doubt that we'll need that many fixed bases to function properly."

Trent leaned forward and pursed his lips in thought. The carriers were proven to be able to annihilate any target from any distance across the globe with frightening precision. Plus, they weren't as vulnerable as the land bases. It was going to be hard to bomb one of them without the missile and the jet it was fired from being shot out of the sky within seconds.

Nodding slowly, he hummed in agreement. "At first, I would have disagreed, but after a second of thought, you're right. By the time the fourteen operable bases are back up and running, the carriers will already be patrolling the skies. With our new DNA tracking satellites and proactive algorithm, we'll be able to neutralize any threat before it even happens." He wasn't reluctant to admit that that prospect excited him.

"My thoughts exactly," Hand agreed.

Well, that took care of that, Trent thought. With that out of the way, he could concentrate on bigger and better things. As if on cue, the director of the Hub, Pablo Escobar, called his phone. "Ah, if you'll excuse me, Agent Hand." He waited until she left and closed the door behind her before answering. "Agent Escobar, talk to me."

"Director Trent," greeted the middle-aged Latino, "We've just received some brand new intel from Latveria."

"What have you learned?"

"Our spy within the Latverian Council have learned that Prime Minister Lucia von Bardas is equipping this new crop of supervillains with high-tech weaponry. We've also received word that multiple calls between von Bardas and the supervillain Dr. Octopus, as well as many who are believed to have been in the army assembled by Baron Zemo."

Trent leaned back and ruminated over this information. If von Bardas and Latveria were providing weapons for supervillains, they had to be stopped. Permanently. "We'll strike them as soon as possible, preferably within the next few days."

"Sir, did you not want to first run this by the President?"

He knew that Latveria and the US, while not necessarily allies, had a good relationship. Certainly better than they did when Victor von Doom was ruling. He also knew, however, that the US wouldn't want to do anything to spoil that relationship, even if it meant turning a blind eye to what was happening behind the scenes. "They'll want to handle it diplomatically. Also, we don't answer to them, so this is a moot point. This is my call, not anyone else's."

With that said, Escobar hummed in agreement. "What's our first move, sir?"

While he had half a mind to send a fleet of Ultron drones to Latveria to just level the entire country, just to be safe, he knew that he needed to be inconspicuous. "Assemble the STRIKE team. I want them briefed and on a plane to Latveria within two days."

"Yes sir," Escobar chirped dutifully before ending the transmission.

This was it. This was his first real test as Director of SHIELD. If it went as well as he thought it was going to, then that meant that this job was just a little bit easier to handle. Only a little, until the next crisis ramped up back up to eleven.


	9. To Wage a Secret War

_**To Wage a Secret War**_

**Quinjet – Atlantic Ocean **

**The Next Morning – 9:35 AM**

STRIKE leader Agent Brock Rumlow stood beside his team near the cockpit of the team's personal quinjet. He was told that there was reliable intel that Latveria was equipping villains with high-tech weapons to aid them in their terrorist plots. Obviously, they needed a group of specialists to cancel those deals and make sure that Latverian Prime Minister von Bardas wasn't going to be a problem for SHIELD at any point in the future, near or distant.

That was comfortably inside his wheelhouse.

Standing beside him was his teammate and friend, Jack Rollins. They both graduated from the Academy in the same class, ran multiple missions together before both being assignment to STRIKE. To him, following his best friend into missions was a no-brainer.

Standing behind him were the other four members of the team: Sidney Vaughn, Doris Welles, Georgina St. George, and Alex Marquez. Vaughn and Welles were the newest, having been assigned to the team just a month ago to replace Barton and Romanoff.

The four men and two women were waiting for a briefing transmission with Hub Director Pablo Escobar. None of them had met the man before, nor had they even heard of him. However, when he was promoted to Hub director, they learned quite a not about him. He had originally been stationed at the Sandbox, where all unknown tech that SHIELD confiscated was stored. They were told that he kept things in tiptop shape during his eleven year tenure, which made him a natural successor to Victoria Hand, who was known and famed for her ability to keep a tight ship and a cool head even, during the most hectic and stressful situations.

A melodic tone rung from the black screen in front of them, and the image of Agent Escobar appeared. "Glad you could come so quickly," greeted Escobar. The 45 year old Venezuelan agent was appeared to be dressed in a sharp gray suit, and was wearing a pair of black rimmed glasses. To his left was an open holographic screen displaying a brunette woman that none of the STRIKE operatives had seen before. "This is Agent Sasha Barron, our operative in the Latverian Council. She confirmed yesterday that Prime Minister Lucia von Bardas was selling high tech weaponry to various supervillains around the world, as well as giving them asylum when authorities catch wind of their terrorist activities."

Various maps and displays popped up around him. One displayed a map of Latveria, another showed a list of supervillains that Bardas was suspected of dealing with. Another was a detailed layout of Castle Doom and Doomstadt, with recommended routes highlighted in red.

"The only country more difficult to infiltrate with being made than Latveria is Wakanda. Latveria is the second most technologically advanced country in the world, again, behind Wakanda. Most of their advancement goes toward nonmilitary needs, but they still have a series almost impossible defensive measures to overcome, especially around the border, and doubly so around Doomstadt. The city is guarded by an army of Doombots, all connected to a central hub somewhere within the castle."

"What's our entry point?" Welles asked plainly, a very noticeable southern twang revealing her South Carolinian roots.

Escobar paused for a moment to circle an area that was colored dark green just south of Doomstadt. "Doomwood, a forest just south of Doomstadt. From there, you'll cross the Klyne river here," he again circled a point on the river where the forest and city were closest, "into Doomstadt village. You'll have to move quickly. Agent Barron will provide you a fifteen minute window to reach the castle undetected. Any longer and you'll be on your own. Questions?"

The STRIKE operatives all looked at one another. "When do we ship out?" Rollins asked.

"Twenty minutes. Meet at the hangar bay for departure."

"You heard the man, STRIKE. Suit up."

The team marched out, and quickly made their way to the locker rooms to suit up. "Bardas? Didn't the government set her up a few years ago, when Doom vanished?" Marquez asked no one in particular.

"Yeah. As some kind of puppet ruler for good will or some shit. She's American, you know," Rumlow answered. He slipped on a lightweight athletic shirt and strapped on his bulletproof tactical vest. As he equipped it with various guns and canisters, Rollins chuckled.

"Guess they didn't learn from the last time, huh? Second time something like has happened, right?"

"Yeah. Hussein in Iraq. I was part of the op that hunted him down for a while before being recruited by SHIELD about nine years ago. Now, again."

Rollins finished suiting up and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "It'll be easier this time."

As they walked out, Marquez, the youngest of the tactical team, wrapped his arms around the necks of the veteran agents. "Yeah, the hard part is getting to the chica. Then it's chik-chik… boom." He held his hands together, then spread them apart to mimic an explosion. "Am I right, boss?"

"Actually, I was thinking more of the silent approach." Welles, followed by the taller Brenton, considered Marquez dismissively before nodding at Rumlow. "You'll get your explosions later, Marquez, but I want to see what Welles can do with a rifle. Barton told me some good things about her."

Marquez shrugged and nodded. It wasn't like _he_ was calling the kill shot or anything.

Brenton sighed and rapped her fingers against a metal container held inside a mesh net. "Why are we even assassinating her in the first place? We usually just go in and arrest them." As elegantly as the black woman's British accent made her words seem, they were marked by an uncertainty and suspicion that made her team leader frown.

"Fury is gone now. The old days are a thing of the past now. If Trent feels that wet works is the way to go, that's the way to go. We don't get paid to question orders, understood?"

She swallowed and nodded sharply. "Yes sir."

Rumlow, with that settled, nodded and checked with the pilot. Two hours until the reached the drop zone. Two hours to psych themselves up for yet another black ops mission.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ This will be the first of at least two major comic storylines that'll be adapted for this story._


	10. Secret War

_**Secret War**_

**Doomwood Forest, Latveria – 7:35 PM**

It was dark, with only thin beams of moonlight trickling down from gaps in the trees above providing any sort of light alongside artificial light provided by flashlights. It was only around 7:30 in the evening in Latveria, but it was nearly pitch black under the thick canopy of Doomwood Forest.

There weren't usually any people inhabiting the forest. If they did, it was only for a short time, perhaps to gather wood for the village, or a kill for dinner. Black bears crept deep within the brush, while skittish deer were scared away by the strange people cautiously walking passed in formation. A light breeze pushed the group of six's scents downwind, keeping them out of the scent range of whatever predators that would have been foolish enough to think them a quick meal.

Rumlow took point, as he almost always did. Vaughn and Rollins were behind him, followed by Welles and Brenton, with Marquez bringing up the rear to watch their backs.

"Coming up on the river now, sir," Vaughn informed.

Rumlow nodded and strode toward the thin body of water. Its coursing waters crashing into the rapids sticking up above the waterline were audible from their position. The smell of fresh water wafted through the air into their nostrils, joining the ambient smells of the foliage and animals nearby.

The river was only sixty feet across, with moderate water speed. No real trouble in crossing it. Guns overhead, they crossed single file, the first across making sure that no one was trailing them while the others were temporarily vulnerable. Once they were all across without trouble, they continued, moving quickly, but silently down the path to Doomstadt. The path leading from the river into the other half of the forest was well-trodden, both by animals and humans. There was significantly less foliage surround the path; the foliage that was appeared to have been cleanly sliced, as if cut through with a machete.

"300 meters from the big-smoke, sir," the Australian Vaughn informed. His nose was buried in his tablet, which displayed a fifteen mile radius. Small red pings peppered the screen, depicting pieces of technology that were within its range. "Hold up. Got a sensor about ten meters up ahead."

The capital's defenses started right about now, which made sense. With as much traffic, even if it wasn't often, that traveled through this forest to and from the city, they were bound to have intruders and immigrants attempt to sneak in through the forest.

Without a word, Welles drew the silenced .50 caliber handgun resting on her hip. Her finger twitched slightly and the sensor exploded in a mist of metal and circuits.

"Good work, Welles. Vaughn, keep an eye put for more sensors or defensive measures," Rumlow ordered

Vaughn nodded and did just that, informing them that there were sensors every 10 or so meters. Welles shot them from a distance with ease every time. Other than Barton and Barnes, she was the best shot SHIELD had offer. She had the quiet, slightly unnerving thousand yard stare, as if she was scoping for her next mark every minute of every day.

After a few minutes, the forest canopy slowly gave way to the starry nighttime sky. Most people would have been mesmerized by the beautiful constellations that were visible. STRIKE didn't pay the scenery any mind. As soon as the city gates came into view, their minds turned completely over to the mission at hand. Objective one, _Reach the city without being detected, _was completely without issue. Infiltrating the city might have been a little more difficult.

The city was surrounded by a large steel wall, which was at first glance, conservatively, twenty feet high. Barbed wire was wrapped around large spikes at both the top and bottom of the wall. It was guarded around the perimeter by sentry towers equipped with laser cannons, with a pair of Doombots stationed in each tower. Roaming Doombots marched around the wall at every fifty feet.

Rumlow eased to a stop just short of the entrance of the forest. From there, he could just see the top of the castle over the top of the city wall. "Brenton."

Brenton stepped up and placed a pair of high-tech binoculars in front of her face. Welles kneeled silently just below her, handgun rifle trained straight ahead. "Two towers, forty yards apart. Six guards, four above, two down below." She made a slight adjust to zoom in as much as possible. "They have some right nasty looking cannons up there."

Rumlow took the binoculars from Brenton and watched Welles silently shoot the two roaming Doombots within two seconds. Two twitches, and the guards in the leftmost tower were headless. The same for the guards in the rightmost tower.

"Move out," Rumlow ordered as he broke put into a sprint toward the castle walls.

"Here." Rollins, where a pair of goggles with an x-ray function active, stopped at a section of the wall that he saw was unoccupied on the other side. Marquez placed a magnetized harness on the wall as Rollins pulled put a small laser and cut a hole big enough for them to enter in.

The team, led in by Rumlow, moved quickly and quietly through the streets. They stuck to the shadows wherever possible to avoid detection. Any civilians who just so happened to spot them were tranquilized with impunity for their troubles. Any Doombots who managed to detect them after being alerted of an intrusion were either instantly shot and destroyed by Welles or Brenton, or incapacitated by a small EMP device thrown by Marquez.

The city of Doomstadt wasn't large, and was more like a large village than a city. The streets were cobblestone, and the building structure was very eastern European. The citizens looked impoverished, yet somehow content. They looked sickly, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. There were no reports of famine or starvation or sickness amongst the Latverian people; quite the opposite, the medical facilities within the city were second to none in Europe.

As curious as their state was, it wasn't STRIKE's responsibility or mission to determine their overall health and well-being. "Access point twenty meters, on the south end of the castle," Vaughn informed.

"Keep an eye out for Agent Barron. She's our way inside," Rumlow ordered.

Within minutes, they came across an older brunette woman in an ornate green dress with a gold collar. "Quickly, agents, this way," she said in a hushed but easily heard voice. It was whispered, but they could still detect an Eastern European accent. Agent Sasha Barron was standing just inside a metal door on the south side of the castle. There were no civilians, nor were there any Doombots or surveillance. It was obvious that this was a secret entrance, likely one used for utility and maintenance.

"Agent Barron?" Rumlow asked.

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I have been undercover here since Doom's mysterious disappearance and Bardas was installed as ruler five years ago. I've seen the transactions myself, or have heard firsthand of them. She must be stopped before any more terrorists can gain access to Latverian technology." She very quickly led them down a dark, damp passageway that appeared to wind deeper in the castle.

"Bardas is scheduled to meet with Dr. Octavius in fifteen minutes, so you will have to hurry before he gets here."

Rumlow cursed silently. Briefing said nothing about a scheduled meeting. "This must be spur of the moment type thing."

"Jā. (_**A/N: **__Latvian - yes_) He only called about one, maybe two hours ago." The path wound around a curvy path for another few minutes before they reached a wooden wall. Barron wrapped her slender fingers around a lever. "Past this door, you'll be in the library. From there, follow the path to the right until you reach the dining room. There will be a statue of Dr. Doom in the right corner. Pull his right gauntlet and it will reveal another passage that leads directly to the throne room." There was a bump on the other side. "Sūdi. Kas tas bija?" She shook her head and lowered her voice to a hush. "The passage will lead you to the upper level of the throne room, where you'll be able to take the kill-shot. Good luck, STRIKE."

Rollins watched her vanished down the passageway, and then turned to scan the library with his x-ray goggles. The library was filled with Doombots. He sighed and turned to Rumlow. "The welcoming committee is waiting for us."

And, of course, Barron was nowhere to be seem. "Well then," Rumlow cocked his assault rifle and flipped the safety off, "shall we say hello?"

"It'd be just rude to barge in without knocking first, boss," Marquez quipped. He pulled a grenade from one of his vest's pouches and pulled the pin.

Rumlow nodded and placed his hand on the lever. "Three… two… one… go!" He yanked down the lever.

The door slide open slowly, allowing Marquez to toss the grenade through the widening crack and duck behind the door for cover as it exploded.

The team exploded out of the secret passageway, guns blazing and peppering any of the remaining Doombots with a hail of bullets that rendered them nothing more than porous piles of rubble intermixed with the scorched, mangled piles of rubble that were caught in the explosion.

If Bardas wasn't aware of their presence when they first infiltrated Doomstadt, she was now. Rumlow led the way down the hall, followed by the rest of his team with Marquez covering their sixes. Doombots seemed to pour out of the walls and immediately opened fire on the agents. They ducked for cover behind the pillars that were lining the walls on either side of the hall.

"This'll be easier, huh?!" Vaughn yelled teasingly at Rollins as he unleashed a volley of bullets that ripped through half a dozen robots.

"I may have spoken too soon!" Rollins replied as he did the same.

Doombots dropped left and right, allowing the team to advance slowly. A pair of grenades from Marquez opened an alley in the defensive wall of robots that allowed Welles and Brenton to slip in behind them and cut a swath through them.

They moved quickly through the swarm of bots, firing in groups of two and three to allow some to advance further, then cover for the group behind. Luckily, they had prepared for the eventual confrontation with Doom's famous mechanical army. Their rifles and sub-machine guns were all loaded with armor piercing rounds, which easily sliced through the light armor of the Doombots.

Just how many there were, no one knew. It seemed that for every one that they destroyed, ten more took its place. It seemed that way, anyway.

Within her ornately decorated and regal throneroom, Lucia von Bardas felt as safe as a person could feel with not only two dozen robots standing between her and the large golden doors leading to the outside hall, but also notorious supervillain Dr. Octopus. She breezed a reserved sigh and watched Octavius inspect the black mechanical arms lying at his feet. They were designed to be identical to his original ones, with the exception that they were fester, stronger, and more intelligent.

Whether having two pairs of self-intelligent arms attached to his spinal column was a smart idea or not was none of her concern.

He hummed softly, which was somewhat drowned out by the explosions tearing through her castle some yards away. "It seems that you have company," he noted casually.

She chortled dismissively. "Whatever or whoever is out there stands little chance against my army, I assure you. Now, what do you think?"

He nodded slowly. "I believe I'll take them." His arms carried and dropped four metallic briefcases at her feet, each filled with a million dollars. "I believe this will cover it."

"I believe it shall," she purred.

Dozens upon dozens of robots left in their wake, it seemed that the nigh endless horde of Doombots came to an end once the team reached the dining room. Good thing, as Brenton and Vaughn were out of ammo, and Marquez was just about there himself. "Welles, take the secret way up to the second level. We'll draw her attention," Rumlow ordered.

Welles nodded silently and tugged on the right gauntlet of the statue of Doom that was towering reverently in the center of the room. A secret panel on the back wall opened, and she vanished down the almost pitch black corridor.

"Let's move."

They crept silently, careful not to make any unnecessary sounds that could have tipped off the next wave of robots where they were, down the hall. It was obvious that they were getting closer to the throneroom, as the portraits of Doom were slowly replaced with newer portraits of Bardas. She wasn't half bad looking, either. Long black hair, nice plump lips and striking green eyes. Rumlow almost regretted having to cancel her. _Almost_.

He checked his ammo reserves before they reached the double golden doors that led to the throneroom. He had one full magazine left, and his current one with only fifteen rounds left. For what they had to do, that was more than enough.

The hall leading to the door was surprisingly empty. Not a single Doombots or anything in sight.

He wasn't about to start complaining, but he knew that lack of security on _this_ side of the door meant that it was all one the _other_ side. He nodded at Marquez.

Marquez kneeled down in front of the door and placed a piece of C-4 in between the ornate handles. He held up five fingers twice times, signaling that they had ten seconds until it blew.

Rumlow nodded and ducked for cover. "Welles, what's your status?"

Welles, it was rumored, was a peculiar woman. She was quiet, almost supernaturally so, so her not replying right away wasn't that big of a surprise. Annoying yes, but not surprising. "Welles, status."

The sound of a rifle cocking echoed in the comm. _=Positioned.=_

He nodded silently. "Three… two… one…"

The C-4 exploded, tearing the doors open and filling the air with bits of gold and dust. STRIKE surged through the doors, brandishing rifles and handguns aimed for Bardas… through a wall of over twenty Doombots.

"Ah, welcome to Latveria, SHIELD. You should know that tourism is strictly prohibited," Bardas greeted with fake joviality.

She gestured and the sound of forty-eight arm cannons being cocked sent a bead of cold sweat down Rumlow's temple. _Any day now, Welles._

Welles peered into her scope, crosshairs lined nearly perfectly with Bardas' left temple. While any normal sniper would have just pulled the trigger and watched the gray matter splatter across the landscape and relish in the residual heat of the bullet being propelled violently through the barrel.

_"Let's go to war_

_To make peace._

_Let's be cold_

_To create heat."_

She wasn't quite normal. Whispered lyrics trickled from her lips and into the comms of her team.

_"I'm going in for the kill._

_I'm doing it for a thrill._

_Oh, I'm hoping you understand_

_And don't let go of my hand."_

The propulsion was near silent, and unknown to those below. Its results were anything but. Gray matter and bit of skull exploded from Bardas' right temple, splattering across the red rub underneath her silver and gold throne.

Octavius yelled and leaped back as her lifeless body slumped over. Blood splattered on the rug, staining and blending in to the crimson red threads.

The Doombots all turned in unison and scanned their leader for signs of life. There were none. Doing so allowed Vaughn to toss a battery sized EMP that activated and rendered them and Octavius' arms useless. Rollins fired a single tranquilizer dart that rendered Octavius unconscious.

His body fell face first, a few feet from Bardas.

Rumlow exhaled the breath that he didn't know he had been hold, and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Alright. Tag 'em and bag 'em. Let's move out. Nice shot, Welles."

_=I know,=_ was her only response.

Rumlow cleared his throat and signaled their extraction team that they were ready for pick up.

With Bardas gone, there was sure to be a power struggle within the Latverian government. Vultures were sure to fight and scratch and claw their way to the throne to be the new big shot. Right? That was how it worked? Rumlow didn't really know, nor did he really care. His job was done, quick, like always.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, STRIKE filed out, Octavius in handcuffs and bonds, and Bardas' body in a body bag. The Latverians were none the wiser of the operation, but some close to the castle did hear the explosions and gunfire.

Their concerns were assuaged by Lucia von Bardas herself. Or, an LMD of her. As soon as STRIKE left with the true Lucia von Bardas, Agent Barron appeared in the throneroom through one of the many secret passageways. Behind her was a life model decoy of the deceased ruler.

SHIELD's plan, to replace Bardas with an LMD under their control. Thus, placing Latveria under their control. And it went off without a hitch.

"Sir, Agent Barron reporting. The LMD is in place. Mission accomplished."

_=Good,=_ commended Trent. _=Handle the citizens then await further instruction. Trent out.=_

"Understood, sir. Barron out."


	11. Their Own America

_**Their Own America**_

Once STRIKE returned from Latveria, successful in their mission to cancel Lucia von Bardas, Director Trent explained to them the secondary reason for her death. The primary reason was, of course, to cease the selling of highly dangerous and advanced weaponry to superhuman terrorists. However, as many who knew of the mission pointed out, that could have been accomplished by her just being arrested and thrown in a cell at the Raft. That, Trent agreed with, and that was where the secondary reason came in.

As Agent Barron briefly explained to STRIKE, von Bardas was to be canceled, then replaced by a SHIELD controlled life model decoy, or LMD. That LMD would then attract more superhuman terrorists who were seeking to purchase weapons from Latveria. A SHIELD task force would then apprehend them, and send them either to the Fridge or the Raft, depending on their danger level. Octavius was a level six prisoner and was sent to the Fridge, for instance.

What was to become of the confiscated weapons and technology? Well, that was Level Ten classified. To clarify, _where_ the technology was going was no secret. To the Sandbox, where all unknown tech went. _What_ SHIELD planned on doing with it, of anything, was what was classified at Level Ten.

For many agents, that was just fine, and par for the course. Under Fury, they had long grown accustomed to being kept slightly in the dark about certain things. Compartmentalization – no one could spill the secrets because they didn't know them all. Agents knew exactly what they needed to know – no more, no less. It was a system that Fury and Carter before him believed in. It worked, even if certain agents didn't like being left out in the dark.

"Director Trent?" Trent looked up from his paper work to find the redhead who had been accompanying him pretty much to all of his meetings standing in the doorway of his office. "Mr. Walker is waiting for you in the lobby."

"Ah, perfect." He smiled and stood, straightening and buttoning his coat before stepping out from behind the desk and toward the door. "Thanks, Ashley."

Today was going to be a good day. And one that he didn't even see coming, if he was honest. He had received a call that morning from John Walker, the hero more commonly known as US Agent, stating that he wished to join the ranks of SHIELD. His reasoning was that, after the defeat of the Masters, SHIELD was going to need as much help as they could get. Also, they needed a Captain America to vouch for them, and he was as close to Steve Rogers as anyone was going to get.

Trent agreed.

Barnes was floundering on whether he wanted to keep the shield or not, and honestly, Trent wasn't sure if he needed to. Barnes, frankly, wasn't noble enough to be Captain America. He would have been the first to tell anyone that. Walker, while not Rogers, was close, and wasn't tainted by a dripping red ledger like Barnes was.

In short, they needed a new Captain America, and, in his mind, John Walker was that man.

When he entered the lobby and got a good look at Walker, his thoughts were confirmed. He was large, standing at six foot four, and weighing around 265 to 280 at most. Blonde hair, striking blue eyes, a square chin and an Adonis like physique – physically speaking, he was perfect. But, if speaking with Steve Rogers taught him anything, the physical aspect was the least important of being the Captain. "Mr. Walker. I'm Director Trent. It's a pleasure to meet you," he greeted as he approached him and extended his hand.

John took it and shook it firmly. "Director Trent. The honor is mine, sir."

Trent smiled broadly and gestured for him to follow him to his office. "Mr. Walker, when you called me this morning, I was surprised, to be frank. I didn't expect any heroes to join SHIELD after seeing what happened to the Avengers."

John nodded solemnly, his lips pressed into a thin line. "That was an unexpected tragedy. We grew used to them being the mightiest on the planet," he stated, harking back to a familiar tagline associated with the Avengers. "But, that's no reason to shy away. After all, the Army receives new recruits every day, despite the fact that there is a very real chance that they'll die in the line of duty. Me, I want to be a hero. I always have ever since my brother died in Vietnam. I want to help people, and joining SHIELD seems to be the best way to accomplish that."

Trent nodded appreciatively. The man had a good head on his shoulders, and better intentions. He wanted to be a hero; who was he to try and stop him? "Well, I'm sold. Of course, you'll have to undergo a SHIELD physical, psych evaluation and the like. Just basic routine stuff that we have to get through before you can officially join."

John nodded sharply. "Yes sir. I trust I'll pass, but being safe is best."

"Absolutely."

They entered Trent's office, and immediately, he noticed that John stopped short and held his gaze on the encased object hanging on the wall behind his desk. "Is that –"

"Rogers' shield? Yes, yes it is." He walked behind his desk and opened the case to remove it. It was lighter than he would have thought. Barnes' was much, much heavier. "Here, give it a try."

John took it with reverence and just looked at it. He swallowed. "Shouldn't this be in a museum, sir?"

A valid question. But considering that, if they wanted to, any thief worth their weight, ie a certain Cajun thief associated with the X-Men and a particular white haired thief who was like every bad luck superstition squeezed into a leather catsuit, could have easily passed the security of the Smithsonian and taken it, he was disinclined to trust it to anyone but himself. "It should. But security isn't as tight at the Smithsonian as I'd like it to be. However, if it would make you feel more comfortable, we can either have one made for you or just give you the one already being used."

At that, John raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Sir?"

He smiled. "Well, yes. My intention was to name you as our Captain America." Before he could object, he continued. "Because the world, not just America, needs a Captain that can instill inspiration and hope in their lives, like Rogers did. And, if there's anything that this world needs, it's hope." And Barnes couldn't instill hope; not like Rogers could.

He doubted anyone could be like Rogers, but then, they didn't have to. They just had to be somewhere close.

John was silent for a long time. In the meantime, his eyes never left the shield. Once they did, they cut into Trent with a burning resolve he hadn't seen in a long time. "Sir, I'll do my best," he said with firmness.

Trent smiled. "That's all we ask."


	12. Unease

_**Unease**_

**Two Days Later**

John Walker passed both his physical exam and his psych evaluation with flying colors. Once that news reached Trent, he immediately issued him his Level One SHIELD badge.

The decision was met with skepticism. Many agents cited Trent's own words that they couldn't depend on metahumans as reason to eye the hiring of Walker with suspicion. Trent laughed this off by saying that he said and meant that they couldn't depend _solely_ on metahuman _teams_. Excluding metas completely was just foolish.

And thus, John Walker was given a more streamline version of Rogers' Captain America uniform, complete with the shield that Bucky used during his short stint as Captain. Bucky was far, far too willing and happy to hand the shield off to someone else. Steve chose _him_ personally, so many thought that Trent should have respected that, as well as Bucky.

It wasn't that Bucky wasn't respecting Steve's wishes. He just wasn't worthy enough to wield the shield. It was like Steve's shield had its own magical charm or whatever on it, like Thor's hammer, and Bucky didn't feel like he fit the bill. A lot of people disagreed, to his face. If they really knew who he was and what he had done, they would have more than agreed with him.

Well, as of right then, the burden of being the living embodiment of the hopes, ideals and dreams of an entire nation was on someone else's shoulders. He had to admit, it felt good not being weighed down with truing to live up to Steve's legend. Let some other sap try and live up to it. He was going to be himself, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. And right then, Bucky was waiting outside the sickbay in the west wing of the Triskelion for a certain mockingbird who had her wings snipped.

He was leaning casually against the wall across from her room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a foot long white box in the other.

"I can walk, you know," he heard her familiar voice say from inside the room.

"I'm sorry, Agent Morse," replied the clearly exasperated nurse, "but protocol says –"

"I know what it says," she snapped back.

Cabin fever was a bitch, he knew. Being cooped up in a hospital bed for a month and a half, being forced to rest and take it easy when there was so much happening and so many important things to be doing – it sucked. He knew more than probably anyone.

The nurse sighed and wheeled Bobbi out of the room. One look at her told him that she was pleasantly surprised to see him. "Barnes," she greeted.

"Morse." He handed her the box. "Merry Christmas."

She took the box readily and opened it. It was her battle staves, but with a pair of metal prongs at the tips. She inspected them curiously, then smiled and twirled on around her fingers. "It's August, old man. Thanks."

He smirked. "It was the least I could do."

"You did this?" she asked incredulously.

"What if I say that I did?"

She smirked and folded her arms over her chest. "I'd say I don't believe you."

"I'll try not to take offense to that." Once they exited sickbay and entered the lobby of the Triskelion, Bobbi stood from the wheelchair and nodded her thanks to the nurse. "I had Fitz do it. Figured that you'd need more firepower."

"So, now you're calling me a creampuff. Not doing too well here, Barnes." She smirked and turned on her heels to walk to the cafeteria. Having to eat meals in a hospital bed got old really fast.

Bucky rolled his eyes and followed her.

"So," she said as they gracefully walked through the light, but fast moving foot traffic, "heard that there's a new Cap in town."

"Thank God for that," he affirmed with an exaggerated sigh of relief. At her raised eyebrow, he sighed, more resigned this time. "I never wanted that burden. So, when Walker came along, I was more than happy to cooperate. It's _his_ problem now. If he fucks up, it's on _him_, not me."

Bobbi just shook her head. "You didn't even give yourself a chance, sport."

_Sport? _"That's beside the point. I wasn't worthy."

"Being worthy isn't up to the chosen person to decide, but the person who chose them. Rogers chose _you_, out of all the SHIELD agents that are probably more capable. He must've seen something in you that you can't see yourself."

"You sound like Fury." Which meant, as he was reluctant to admit, she was probably right. Oh, well. Not his problem anymore.

"Which means I'm right." She grinned and stepped inside the crowded cafeteria. She went through the line and grabbed a cheeseburger, fries and a soda. Bucky took a spicy chicken sandwich, fries and a bottled water. "Now then, what's this I hear about my job being outsourced to a robot?"

"Yeah, Ultron. Seems legit, but…" He drowned out his concerned by biting down into his spicy chicken. Things like this rarely ended well. Sam had shown him both Terminator movies from the eighties. He saw how apocalyptic the future was then when robots took over; and now, SHIELD was walking step for step in its path. And since he had alienated at least the New Avengers, and likely also the other super teams, response time would be delayed, and any effort to stop them would be too late.

Or, he was just being paranoid and this was going to end up being just fine. But, a mechanical police force like this one rarely ended well. And he didn't even have to have seen a movie about killer drones and terrible futures to know that. It was just common sense. Then again, logic and common sense took a back seat when safety was a top priority. How far was SHIELD going to go to ensure this?

Insight was due to launch later this evening. From what he had heard, and witnessed first hand, _one_ carrier was enough to ensure the world's safety. SHIELD was launching _three_. Whatever terrorists were out there were soon to have their days numbered to the hour.

And with the DNA tracking capabilities, there was literally no way anyone would be able to escape SHIELD's grasp – nothing could escape its notice. And the proactive algorithm thing – which was so much fantasy science that he couldn't even wrap his simple brain around it – made it so they would know who would be doing what in the future. They could know who was going to be a threat _before_ that very person knew that they were going to be a threat. And since they didn't operate under individual federal laws, they could arrest _anyone_, _anytime_, _anywhere_ at Trent's discretion.

It was scary shit, for someone on the other side. Hell, it was scary shit even for those _within_ SHIELD. And with no one but the Council and the UN to answer to, they could get away with a lot of stuff.

"We're finally ahead of the curve. It's like a quantum leap in threat analysis," Bobbi said, as if she had just read his mind.

"Were you reading my mind?"

"Nah. You mumbled something about Insight, so I took an educated guess."

"Right," he mumbled. Quantum leap was a good way of looking at it. It was too much too quickly, in his mind. They had never really had any real respect for privacy, especially when looking for suspects. But this, this was too big a step in the wrong direction.

He'd give it a shot before he passed judgment. But, he really had a bad feeling about this. "Morse, you ever get a feeling that something you're about to watch happen is a really bad idea?"

She grew silent. He was afraid that she wouldn't answer, but she did, in a soft, almost inaudible voice. "Yes."

She knew it. She knew it as well as he did.


	13. Insight

_**Insight**_

**5:45 PM**

Today was big. Today was a very big day in SHIELD's history. Trent couldn't even put into words how excited for six o'clock this evening he had been all week.

Why was today so exciting for not only Trent, but SHIELD in general and the Council? Today was the day that Project Insight went online. They had received a small morsel, just a minuscule taste, when the New Avengers took one of the carriers and used it to absolutely decimate the Masters of Evil's forces.

With all three up and running, there was no criminal, no terrorist, no wanted man or woman who would be able to elude their sights. The Mandarin managed to stay hidden for almost five straight years without leaving so much as a breadcrumb for SHIELD to follow. With Insight, that wasn't going to happen again.

The Masters of Evil managed to stay hidden for as long and they did, and were only found when Van Dyne whored herself out to, ironically, the Mandarin.

Trent chuckled to himself. At the end of the day, all of that was soon to be a thing of the past.

He looked up when his door opened. In walked in Councilmembers Jackson and Hawley. "Director Trent, good evening," greeted the latter.

Trent smiled and stood from his desk. "Councilman Jackson, Councilwoman Hawley, it's good to see you both. I trust that the other councilmembers are somewhere in the vicinity."

"You trust well, Director. They're in the lobby," informed Jackson. "Hawley and I decided to come up to express how pleased we and the others are of the progress you've made thus far. SHIELD looks to be well on its way to achieving the vision we've had for it for decades."

Trent's smile was small and reigned in on the outside, but inwardly, he was beaming and jumping for joy. To be told that he was doing well this early by his bosses did wonders for his confidence. He was doing the right thing, and getting confirmation proved it. "Thank you all. I really appreciate it."

Hawley nodded and took a seat in front of his desk. "Of course, Director. We heard about the procedure in Latveria that STRIKE ran a few days ago. We are impressed with your use of the LMDs to initiate a sting operation. So far," he paused to review a piece a paper, a preliminary report of said sting operation, "SHIELD has arrested three supervillains in the last two days. Very impressive."

Trent nodded appreciatively. "Again, thank you, ma'am. Of course, the terrorists will catch on eventually. Not that it'll matter after today."

"Right."

Trent walked from behind his desk and followed the two councilmembers to the lobby. "Fifteen minutes to launch, sir," a nearby agent informed.

"Will you be addressing the agents in attendance, Director Trent?" Jackson asked.

Trent shook his head. "No. This, I think, is pretty self-explanatory." Besides that, what could he say? What could he possibly have said that wouldn't detract from this momentous occasion? Nothing. Literally nothing could have added to it. It was perfect as was, so he left it at that.

The remaining councilmembers, Yen from China, Singh from India, Langsdorf and LaRue, were standing in the atrium, conversing amongst themselves. "Gentlemen, Lady, if you accompany me to my office. Something like this needs as high a vantage point as possible.

Coulson, Hand and Hill watched Trent lead the group to the elevators. Today was an exciting day. He knew because Trent had been saying so all day. All week, really. Ad nauseum. He was thankfully that the day was almost over.

He was also thankful to finally have a helicarrier in the air, so he could finally have some sense of normalcy. If he could have that, then he would be okay.

"You going to watch the launch?" Hill asked.

Coulson sighed and folded his arms. "I suppose I will. You?"

"I have to," she answered. She didn't sound too particularly happy about that fact, unsurprisingly.

"Well, I suppose that you should be thankful. This should make your job easier," Hand said quietly as the three of them headed toward elevator. As the crossed the threshold, the elevator scanned them to ensure that they were who they appeared to be.

**Coulson, Philip – Level Eight**

**Hand, Victoria – Level Eight**

**Hill, Maria – Level Nine**

_DING_

"Conference Delta," Hill stated. When the car began to move upward, she finally answered Hand. "You would think that. Nope."

She raised a silent eyebrow. "No, it won't make your job easier?"

"Trust me. Trent will find something for me to do. Probably getting him coffee or something."

Coulson snorted softly. Hill, an errand girl. Yeah, that would go over _really_ well. "Maybe he'll have you mopping floors instead."

Hill rolled her eyes and stepped aside when the doors opened and allowed entrance to Rollins and Rumlow. She nodded politely to both of them.

Coulson wasn't particularly familiar to STRIKE, other than, of course, the late STRIKE Team Delta. He knew their names and what they could do, but that was about it, other than a few bits and bobs about their personality quirks. He also knew that they were good. Really good. So good that they were one of the few task forces not on the chopping block with Ultron soon to be becoming a main fixture in SHIELD. "Rumlow, Rollins."

Rollins nodded. "Coulson. Hill, Hand," Rumlow greeted.

"Where's the rest of the team?"

"Resting. They'll be watching the launch on live feed." He grew silent and leaned against the glass wall behind Hill, arms folded across his chest.

**"LAUNCH IN FIVE MINUTES."**

"Ya hear that Stark helped with these. Gave 'em new turbine engines and everything."

Coulson chuckled. "Knowing him, he probably never let Fury hear the end of it." When the car stopped, he was the first off and into the massive floor encompassing conference room. It was to the room Fury was reviewed to as the Hilton was to a motel room. Bigger, brighter, with a panoramic view of the outside world. It was the room where most of the face to face meetings between the Council and Director of SHIELD took place.

Trent and the Council were already there, speaking with another man that he immediately recognized as Alexander Pierce, the Secretary of the Security Council. It was said that Project Insight was his idea.

Turning away from them, he walked silently to the window panels overlooking the hangar bay. He could see the hatches sliding open slowly, revealing the carriers. Only once had he one, during the final battle in Mexico. Even then, it was at a far distance. From here, they looked magnificent.

Maybe Trent was right about this.

"**LAUNCH IN ONE MINUTE."**

Maybe Trent was right about all the changes they needed to make. This was to be a quantum leap in threat analysis. They needed to be ahead of the curve for once, to keep the world safe without needing the Avengers. They were to be the first line of defense, not the last bastion of hope after their heroes failed.

Maybe with these carriers, they wouldn't needed to depend on the heroes as much. This was good for everyone, he thought.

As he watched and listened to the Insight helicarriers, marked IN-01 through 03, he figured that it was time for him, and Hill, to stop resisting and start working with Trent, to make SHIELD better. They were some of the few "Fury's People" left in SHIELD that hadn't been. Maybe it was time to stop being curmudgeon old agents, fighting and resisting change tooth and nail, and start getting with the program.

He glanced to his left and noticed Hill staring intently at the rising helicarriers. He could see it in her face; she agreed with him without ever knowing what he was thinking.

If was time for them to stop being Agents of Fury, and start being Agents of SHIELD.

_**A/N:**__ Okay, sorry for this boring chapter. The plot is finally going to start picking up next chapter. Promise._


	14. Genosha

_**Genosha**_

**Insight Helicarrier 01**

"Director on deck!"

Minutes after the launch, which was a complete success, Trent boarded the 01 helicarrier, which was to hover and patrol around the Americas. 02 was to patrol Europe, while 03 was to patrol around Africa and the Middle East.

The great thing about the helicarriers was that they never needed to dock for fueling. Unlike the first helicarrier, there were six quinjets specifically designed to refuel the carriers in midflight. That time made up could have been the difference between them stopping a terrorist cell, and a school being blown up. That was enough for him.

He strode quickly through the sleek metal halls in the lower deck en route to his new office. By his side were his Deputy Director and Agents Coulson and Johnson. Johnson handed him a video file. On it showed a pair of mutant terrorists, known to be members of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, standing at either side of a pair of women who were kneeling on the floor. The two women were dressed in business suits and ripped lab coats.

Trent sighed heavily. "When did we intercept this?"

"Thirty minutes ago. Those two hostages are Oscorp geneticists that were working on a cure for mutations. They were taken from their Miami, FL office around 10 PM, two days ago," Johnson answered.

He pursed his lips. If it was Magneto's people, then they were more than likely being held in Genosha. "Alright. This is our first challenge in the Insight era. Hill, I want the exact locations of these bastards in fifteen minutes."

"Yes sir." Hill marched to the main deck where there were computer terminals already linked to the targeting satellites launched from the Lemurian Star, a mobile satellite launch platform stationed in the Indian Ocean.

"Sir, I'm sure that if Magneto is involved, the X-Men are already on it. Maybe we should collaborate with them," Coulson suggested.

Trent sighed. He really wished, maybe just once, Coulson would leave the capes where they were. "No. This is what I was talking about. If Xavier sends his goon squad after his old friend, nothing will happen. Yeah, the people will be saved, but there won't be a message sent that you can't do this and think that you have impunity."

Coulson grimaced, but said nothing.

_That's what I thought, fanboy. _"Now, then, make sure the cannons are fired up and ready when Hill locates them."

"Yes sir," he said promptly before striding quickly to the main deck.

Trent continued on his way to his office, if only so he could warm the chair before watching the helicarrier blow a pair of terrorists away who would actually dare kidnap a pair of doctors just doing their jobs. Now, whether that job was legal or not remained to be seen. "Johnson, look into Oscorp's genetics department and see if their 'mutant cure' is on the up and up."

"Yes sir."

As Johnson hurried off, Trent entered his office and closed the door behind him. As soon as he sat down, his phone rang. It was a encrypted number. "This is Director Trent."

_"I see that the launch was successful. Congratulations," _said the person on the other end.

"Thank you. We have a bit of a situation, so if I could call you back later –"

_"No. I won't be long. Just know that next month, I'll be coming to join you. I trust that everything will be in place?"_

That surprised Trent. He sat up straighter in his seat, as if the person could see him. "Yes. Yes it will. I'll see you soon." The phone hung up abruptly. _A goodbye would have been nice._

He sighed and looked up to find Hill standing in his doorway. "They're in a prison located on the west coast of the island, first of two levels. Guns are locked on the four guards on their cell block, as well as the two mutants responsible for their kidnapping."

"Their names?"

"St. John Allerdyce, aka Pyro, and Motimar Toynbee, aka Toad."

Trent nodded slowly. Pyro and Toad. "Alright. How close is 03 from its station?"

"Two hours."

Two hours' distance was nothing to the quinjets docked on the helicarriers. What he was worried about was the hostages being killed before they could get to them. "Have 03 launch a quinjet full of agents for Genosha. When it's within range, have the cannons fire on Toad and Pyro, while firing on the agents will go through the hole opened up and use the distraction to extract the two hostages and get the hell out quickly."

Hill nodded and hurried to relay his instructions to the right people.

He pressed a button on the left side of his desk. "Are the anti-mutant power dampeners operational on all three carriers?"

_=Yes sir. Should I have 03 activate theirs?=_

"Yes. Thank you."

There was going to be retribution. If there was anything he knew about Magneto, which wasn't a lot, it was that he defended his people with a vigor and passion that he hadn't seen in a long time.

There was going to be retribution, and they were going to be ready.

**Twenty-Five Minutes Later**

The delay was to allow the cloaked quinjet the time to get into position. Invisible to the island's impressive sensors, the jet managed to land within thirty feet of the prison, further hidden by the heavy wooded area behind the facility.

Hill gave the word and the high precision long range cannons fired a dozen times. The two blips confirmed to be Toad and Pyro blinked off within seconds. At that moment, the cannons fired on the opposite end of the prison, away from the cell the hostages were being held in. Doing it that way attracted attention away from where the SHIELD team would be entering.

Entrance and extraction took one minute. Security was thin, so they had no trouble getting past the guards and breaking the two women out.

By the time Genoshan officials knew what was happening, the jet was gone and headed back to its assigned helicarrier. It would be days before Magneto would figure out that it was a SHIELD operation; by the time he did, they would be ready.

"Sir?" Daisy Johnson entered the office, holding a file in her hand. She swept her short bangs further up her forehead and dropped it on his desk. "Turns out that the mutant cure project that Oscorp is running is a secret agenda. Not recognized or even known by the government."

That was great. Just perfect. He pulled a form from his desk and quickly filled it out and signed it. "Head to New York and confiscate everything they have. Serums, research, data, experiments results, everything. Wait, how far along were they?"

"Testing phase," she said grimly.

Knowing that nutcase Osborn, they were testing on mutants. There was their legal leverage. "Osborn knows that if he was testing on mutants, he's in hot water with the UN. Let him know that we know, and he likely won't resist." He handed her the form.

"Likely?"

"He _is_ crazy. If he does resist, arrest him on suspicion of violating human rights."

"Yes sir."

As she left, Trent leaned back and steepled his fingers together. In truth, he couldn't give even one crap about mutants. This was to make sure that the one sure fire way to keep them down was in their hands and not in those of some lunatic. Provided, of course, that it worked.

Osborn was crazy, but he wasn't stupid, so of course it worked.

If Magneto was angry about losing two hostages _and_ two of his terrorist cell, let him come. They would be ready.


	15. A Cure for What Ails Them

_**A Cure For What Ailed Them**_

**Oscorp Industries, New York City – 7:34 PM**

After the death of Tony Stark at the hands of Baron Zemo, Stark Industries, still led by Pepper Potts, lost its luster. Many stockholders jumped ship while others very warily remained on board. Without the genius billionaire, the playboy philanthropist in the background to put them at ease, Stark Industries was becoming a shell of its former self. Pepper tried her best to keep the ship afloat, and was doing a wonderful job; but, anyone who knew her personally knee that she herself was becoming a shell of her former self.

Stark Industries wasn't the titan it was just a mere three months ago.

That was where Osborn Industries came in. Led by the venerable, but oft maligned Norman Osborn, it smoothly began to slide into the void left by Stark. It, in his twisted, knotted mind, was good PR to pick up SI's slack. And he was right. Stock had picked up by twenty-one points in the two month span since he began this endeavor, and seemed to be on a steady incline.

His boldest move yet was the introduction of the mutant cure. Mutants, they were a problem, to both themselves and others around them. Osborn didn't feel comfortable knowing that his son, Harry, could have been blown up at any moment by some kid with ten eyes and a nuclear reactor for a heart who couldn't control his powers.

The cure itself was a good idea, and one that was sure to be supported the world over. Of course, Osborn, being as addled in the mind as he was, decided to do live testing on mutants. Whether they volunteered or not was unknown, and therein lied the problem. The UN had already decreed that experimenting on mutants for any purpose was a crime against humanity. Even if the mutants, desperate for a reprieve from their curse, volunteered completely of their own volition, it was still illegal.

Which was why Osborn ordered that the experiments taken place completely in the dark, figuratively speaking. All research was stored on their own private servers, deep underground in the subbasement under the building.

It was only a matter of time before the cure would be ready for mass distribution. Osborn would make a killing off it, and the mutant problem would be lessened to a small nuisance, if not outright solved. Of course, there were the ones that would resist and create problems. Well, that what connections to the government and the military were for.

* * *

Daisy Johnson, followed by seven agents, marched through the front doors of Oscorp's main office, official Search and Seizure form in hand. "Can I help you, Miss?" queried the receptionist at the front desk.

Johnson pulled her badge out and show it to her. "Agent Johnson of SHIELD. I need you to direct me to where the mutant cure project is being held."

The receptionist faltered for a moment. "Ah, mutant cure? I'm not sure what that –" She stopped when one of the agents slapped down several papers detailing the research and development of the cure on her desk. She sighed heavily. "I'm going to call Mr. Osborn down and have him talk to you."

Johnson waited patiently while she did so.

It didn't take long for an irritated Norman Osborn to march into the foyer, a pair of lawyers behind him. "What's going on in here?" he demanded.

In answer, Johnson handed him the Search and Seizure form. She could see it on his face as his eyes scanned the yellow price of paper with the SHIELD logo watermarked on the top right corner. He was about to blow a gasket and was desperately trying not to. Which was the exact reason why Johnson opted to go through the front door; she was willing to bet a year's salary that no one but maybe three or four lab techs knew that Osborn was the Green Goblin.

"I think you'll find that everything in order," she stated with a neutral expression. "Now, if you'll kindly direct us to what we're looking for, we can do this quietly. Or, we can do this loudly in the morning, with news crews and reporte–."

"Enough," he barked gruffly. "Take it. But, we're doing the right thing. There are some mutants out there that can't be allowed to use their powers to hurt innocent people."

Strange, hearing altruism from a sociopath. Was she one as well for agreeing with him? "Be that as it may, you're experimenting on mutants. That can't be allowed to continue. We'll be sure, though, to make sure that your work doesn't go credit." Because that was what he wanted, to be known as the man who solved the Mutant Problem®.

Johnson left the form with Osborn and followed a lab tech to the testing lab. There, they downloaded all of the research and data, confiscated the serums and equipment and released the mutants that were being used for testing. Osborn allowed all of this to happen out of fear of being exposed. The public couldn't give two craps about mutants, but the UN did. And a major corporation experimenting on unwilling candidates – mutant, human or otherwise – was right up their legal wheelhouse.

"Sir, everything was confiscated without any fuss," she reported after ten minutes of packing. "Will return to base within twenty minutes."

_=Good. Good work, Johnson.=_

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her, and turned to oversee the procedures. The thought couldn't be stopped from crossing her mind. What did SHIELD plan on doing with this serum?

* * *

Johnson and her team returned to the 01 helicarrier, and she immediately headed for Trent's office while they went to put the equipment away in storage. "Sir?"

Trent looked up and closed the holographic screen he was looking at. She could only catch a glimpse of it, but it appeared that he was looking at a file belonging to a woman with long black hair. "Yes, Agent Johnson?"

She stepped further into the office and closed the door behind her. "I was wondering what your plans were for that mutant cure."

Trent leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Why exactly do you need to know that?"

She was a little surprised by response, but didn't show it. She cleared her throat to gain a few seconds of thought. She didn't _need_ to know. But it was, in her mind, a good thing to know if anything came from their operation in Genosha. "I was just curious. I understand that there is expected retaliation from Genosha, and it seemed… interesting that you ordered to confiscate Oscorp's research right after."

He didn't answer for a long moment. Too long a moment, she thought. Her brows creased slightly as she waited. "You don't really need to know, do you?" he asked.

She sighed. She had already expected the compartmentalization line, so she wasn't frustrated when she was stone-walled by it. If no one knew the secrets, they couldn't spill them. It was just fine, she supposed. It just seemed weird that he would choose to compartmentalize _this_. "No, I don't, sir."

"Okay, then. Is that all?"

"Yes, sir. That's all I wanted." She turned on her heels and walked out. As she did, she almost ran into Hill. "Commander Hill."

"Agent Johnson. Everything alright?" she asked as she looked her over.

"Yes, ma'am." _Just wondering what's going on behind the curtain. _It wasn't anything new to be kept in the dark about high profile operations. It seemed like Fury left a lot of people out of a lot of things, for various reasons. But this, there was something that didn't sit well to her. She felt like if it was something that affected millions of people, something like that should have been out in the open. At least open to high level agents like her.

Hill didn't look like she bought it, but she didn't press on with it. "If you say so." Her lips curled slightly in a wry smile. "Good work in New York, by the way. Osborn can be a prick."

Johnson answered with her wry smile. "Thanks. Getting over on a bastard like him made my day."

Hill smirked. "I'd rather he be in prison, but I'll take this."

Johnson chuckled and took her leave. She strode at a casual gait back to the hangar bay, where she expected to see the quinjet she had ridden on being inspected. Instead, she saw the confiscated materials being loaded back on the jet, which was prepped for takeoff.

"…Trent says that he wants this replicated as quickly as possible for testing," said an agent on the phone, unaware of her presence.

_Testing? _That was what Trent wanted her to arrest Osborn for, if it was found that he was guilty of it. Unless SHIELD planned on doing it on the up and up. Which, to her knowledge, they couldn't, since they weren't above laws passed by the UN. And, they answered to the UN, so it was doubly impossible. "Hey, where are you taking this stuff?" she asked the man once he concluded his phone call.

He whipped around to face her. "Classified, Level Ten," he answered promptly before turning away to oversee the packing.

_Level Ten? What the hell are you hiding, Trent?_

* * *

_**A/N: **__I don't want to seem like I'm begging, but I really want to know how you guys are enjoying the story and what you think. So, review :)_


	16. Peaking Behind the Curtain

_**Peelings Behind the Curtain**_

**Helicarrier 01**

**Three Weeks Later**

Three weeks after Lucia von Bardas was replaced by a SHIELD LMD, over twenty superhuman terrorists had been captured by the sting operation set up by Trent. Their existing equipment was then confiscated and they were thrown headlong into a cell at either the Fridge or the Raft, depending on their danger level. Most were sent to the Fridge.

It was a never-ending fight, SHIELD realized. Once one scum was taken off the streets for good, two more stepped up to take their place. To fill the void and cash in on their absence. The only way to rid the world of crime for good was to get tough. Locking villains up and trying to rehabilitate them wasn't cutting it. They had been doing that for years, to no avail.

It was time to end these dirtbags. Permanently.

That was a sentiment that Maria Hill was just fine with. The less of the masked freaks running around like it Halloween every freaking day, the better. Maybe, just maybe, her job would get a little easier by then. Maybe.

Nowadays, it didn't seem like her job was getting any easier with all of these changes. If anything, it was getting more difficult. SHIELD was finally ahead of the curve and she was bogged down behind stacks of paperwork, late nights and trips around the world.

Hill sighed and one of three elevators in the helicarrier. "Lower deck," she stated when the car prompted her voice command. The doors opened abruptly before it could get started.

"Weapons cache," stated one of the two agents that stepped inside. The car slowly descended deeper into the helicarrier.

Hill shoved herself into the far corner of the elevator, leaning her head against the cool metal walls and closing her eyes.

The two men were whispering amongst themselves, lowly enough that she couldn't hear them clear, but just loudly enough that she heard every few words. "…anything new?"

"…Nothing so… Latverian tech… hard to understand the complexity of…"

"But you can… able to reverse engineer it for the cape… Trent wants prototypes by next…"

The elevator stopped, and the two men walked out, still talking.

Once the doors closed, securing her solitude, Maria cursed sharply. Trent wanted to reverse engineer the Latverian tech into something or another. Why hadn't she been informed of this? She _was_ still the Deputy Director, right? That should have afforded her some right to be included in the inner circle that knew most of the secrets.

Fury kept things from her, but not things like this. She was the first to know about the Tesseract based weapons and nuclear missiles that Fury had developed last year. He told her the what, the when and the why.

The elevator stopped on the lower deck, and Hill marched out. "Where's Director Trent?" she asked a passing agent.

"Ah, he's in the room up ahead, ma'am," she answered before hurrying off.

Hill's jaw tightened as she walked to the nearest room further down the hall and peeked inside. Trent was indeed inside, alone and on his cell phone. "…yes. Just like you said. Okay, see you next week," he said cheerfully before hanging up. When he turned, he was genuinely surprised to see Hill standing there. "Commander Hill. What can I do for you?"

Hill cut the bullshit and cut right to the chase. "I was in the elevator and couldn't help but overhear two agents talking about reverse engineering that Latverian tech we confiscated a few weeks ago."

Trent sighed heavily and grimaced. "Yes. What about it?"

"Why wasn't I told about this?" she asked pointedly.

"Because you don't, or didn't, need to know yet," he answered promptly. "No one can spill vital secrets –"

"– because no one knows them all. Yes, I'm aware of that. But, I'm the Deputy Director. I need to be kept in the loop on these things."

"Not really, no." He scratched temple while shoving his free hand in his pocket. "Listen, the more people who know about this, the more likely it is that it'll get out somehow."

"Are you saying that I'll divulge sensitive information?" she inquired, voice tight.

"Not intentionally. Just like those doctors let this slip, it could just as easily happen to you, to me, to anyone. We, as a whole, can't afford for that to happen."

Her lips drew into a thin line. "I understand that, sir. But, I think you can trust me with this."

"I don't think it's _me_ with the trust issues, Commander. You need to have a little trust and faith that this will work for the best. _When_ you _need_ to know, I'll tell you everything. Until then, this stays with _me_. Understood?"

She had dealt with this cloak-and-dagger bullshit with Fury for ten years. She wasn't taking it from this guy for ten minutes. "Understood," she said in a clipped, professional tone and promptly took her leave. She vanished inside the elevator and went up to the main deck.

If he didn't want to just tell her what she wanted to know, what she had a right to know, fine. She'd find out another way, then.

* * *

**1:23 AM**

It had been a long night waiting for Trent to go to bed. Much like Fury, the man worked late into the night. Part of the job, she understood to a point. She herself was busy up until well after midnight with paperwork and making sure that everything was set for the next day. It wasn't until nearly half past one before Trent stopped by her office to bid her a good night.

To show that there were no hard feelings after their argument earlier in the night, she bid him a good night, as well. She hoped he was the type to fall asleep quickly and stay asleep for a while. Or, at least for the hour or so that she needed to hack into his personal server and read his files.

That was her plan. Her curiosity was killing her. Hearing about the reverse engineering of the Latverian tech had her suspicious of what it was that Trent was planning. Him not being as forthcoming about it to her as she felt he should have been, which wasn't much, only made her more suspicious.

She was curious, but she was a patient woman. She knew that barging right into Trent's office right away would not only draw suspicion, but also risk Trent catching her if he came back for some reason. That was okay, she could wait. She had plenty of paperwork to finish up.

God, fuck that guy.

* * *

**2:02 AM**

With one final signature, Hill put the final of a seemingly endlessly high stack of forms in her finished tray. How? How had her work load increased since Trent finally settled in? It seemed like she was doing things that could have easily been relegated to other, more readily available agents that didn't already have a shit ton of work on their plates already.

Maria stood and stretched her tired frame out, not bothering to stifle the large yawn. "Shit, two in the morning. I should really get some sleep." Sleep sounded good. She only got a little each night, and snooping on her boss was cutting into her beauty rest time.

She walked out of her office, making sure to turn out the light. At a casual pace, she headed for Trent's office. Luckily, the halls were empty at this time of morning, as only night owls and the few security guards assigned that night were still. Perfect time for spying.

The door to Trent's office slid open silently, and she slipped inside. The light was off, so when the door slid closed, the room became pitch black with the exception of the moonlight pouring in from the window. The ambiance made her feel at peace for a moment, and she almost decided to say the hell with it and go to sleep.

She didn't. She sat behind the computer and turned it on. _Okay, will have to be fast about this. _She removed a Stark Industries flash drive from her pocket and inserted it in one of the USB ports on the side of the monitor. It blinked red for several moments before the password automatically filled in, logging her in. _Alright. Let's see what you're hiding. _A picture of Trent and some redhead, likely his wife, was his desktop background. Pretty woman.

She went into his documents folder and pulled up everything SHIELD related. More than a hundred files came up. _Shit. _This was going to take a while. She clicked one labeled _'List'. _Inside was an alphabetical list of over five hundred names. Skimming through it, she found multiple that she recognized_. Grant Ward, John Garret, Jasper Sitwell, Brandon Trent, Dominique Brenton, Brock Rumlow, Jack Rollins, _just to name a few.

It was weird. Whatever the list was, which it didn't say, it didn't have her name, or Coulson's, Hand's or anyone else she knew personally. Whatever it was, it wasn't what she was looking for.

Clicking out of that file, she opened almost a dozen more, only to close them when they weren't what she was looking for.

"Ah, here we go," she whispered triumphantly upon finding one labeled _'Latveria'._ She opened it and began reading. What she saw wasn't what she was expecting. She read fast due to not being sure if someone was going to walk in at any moment, but she caught that the tech confiscated from Latveria was going to be reversed engineered and retrofitted onto existing Ultron drones, as well as provide armor for a tactical team of agents.

That was fine. The drones retrofitted with the tech were separate from the other drones part of the peacekeeping task force Trent set up weeks ago. These were part of something called the Cape Killers. Hill knew that the term 'cape' was something of a slang term for superhumans. Not just super_humans_, actually, but super_heroes. _Why would Trent want something called Cape Killers? He said that he was okay with working with individual Gifted's. Further, why would he feel the need to make a tactical team like that in the first place?

She closed that and opened a file labeled _'Civil War'_. She saw the term cape killers repeatedly, but that didn't catch her eye. What did was SHIELD's apparent intention to wage some kind of war against Gifted's in the future. She knew that he wanted to snuff out superhuman terrorism for good, so maybe that was what this was. Was that _really_ why he was pumping out so many Ultron clones? To fill out SHIELD's army for this civil war?

But_, Civil War? _Why call it a civil war if it was just a war on terrorism? So many questions that she wanted answers to.

Shaking her head, she closed that file and opened one labeled _'HAMMER'_. Her eyes grew to saucers as she read its contents. "Oh my God," she gasped gravely.

It… it couldn't be. They… couldn't be planning to –

Suddenly, she heard someone on the other side of the door. "Fuck," she hissed.


	17. Crossroads

_**Crossroads**_

It… it couldn't have been. They… they couldn't have been planning to –

Suddenly, she heard someone on the other side of the door. "Fuck," she hissed. With speed that would have impressed Maximoff, she closed all the windows she had opened and safely removed the flash drive before turning the monitor off. Before she could stand from the chair, the door slid open. She ducked down under the desk when the person walked inside. _Oh God, please be the janitor. _

She stayed silent, controlling her breathing to keep quiet so she could hear what the person was doing. She thanked everyone that she left her phone in her office.

Doors to the filing cabinet against the wall adjacent to the door opened and closed quietly, followed by whispered curses. Whoever it was, it probably wasn't Trent, which was a relief. They also didn't turn the lights on, which meant that they were snooping around just like she was. Confirmation that it wasn't Trent.

The person padded silently to Trent's desk. She could see a pair of legs, a woman's, judging by the pantyhose and heels, unless Trent made a habit of cross-dressing at night, standing right in front of her. She gripped both hands over her mouth to prevent making any noise.

She wasn't mindful of where her foot was in her haste to keep quiet. The woman's shoe stepped on the toe of her boot, causing her to jerk back involuntarily. "What the hell?" the woman demanded as she backpedaled out of shock.

_Fuck. The jig is up. _Hill crawled out from under the desk and stood tall to confront… Victoria Hand?

It was just Hand, holding a miniature flashlight and a red folder from Trent's desk. "Hill?"

"Hand?"

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she demanded right back.

"I asked first."

"So what? I asked second. As your commanding officer, _you_ answer _my_ question first."

Hand sighed tersely and shined the light in Hill's face. "You are _not_ pulling rank on me, Hill."

She flinched, much to her chagrin and raised a hand to block the light. "Whatever." She brushed by her and walked out. She needed to seriously think about what she had seen and if she should confront Trent about it. Since she had broken protocol by hacking into her superior officer's personal files and reading classified information above her level, she could have likely lost her job if Trent found out.

But, her job seemed of little importance compared to what she saw.

The rapid pitter-patter of heels clacking against the floor indicated that Hand was hurrying to try and catch her. "Hey, wait."

Hill sighed and slowly her pace to allow her to catch up. "What do you want, Hand?"

Hand slowed her pace to match hers. A red bang fell in front of her glasses, jostled free from her brisk gait. It was swept behind her ear before she replied. I want to know what you were looking at and why you waited until now to look for it."

Hill rolled her eyes. "What? Are you running some kind of IA (A/N: Internal Affairs) investigation?" When Hand didn't answer, she sighed and decided to throw her a bone. "If you must know, I was looking for when my next paycheck was due. It's about time for me to get a raise."

Hand didn't appear to believe a word she said, but it didn't matter. "I'm just making sure you aren't breaking protocol," she answered carefully.

She wanted to talk about protocol. She wrote the book. Literally. "Hey, I helped write up the new protocol. So, I think I'm good to stay within it." It was a bold faced lie, but she just wanted Hand out of her face.

She exhaled a small chuckle while pursing her lips. "I've heard that before. It was a lie."

Hill let out a frustrated huff and whipped around to face Hand. She inclined her neck to make eye contact with the taller woman. With their current footwear, she only came up to her shoulders. "Alright, look. I know you think you have to know what's going on. You don't. There are things going on in the shadows that I don't even know about. Things … I don't want to. Leave this alone. Please." The final word sounded strained and forced. It was rare that Hill ever asked for anything politely. Sometimes she wondered if she even remembered what words like please meant. This was… this was where this brought her. Being polite. Damn it, she had a reputation to uphold.

Hand pursed her lips, silently appraising Hill before nodded. Her eyes never left hers until she finally looked away to capitulate. "Fine. Consider it dropped."

"Thank you." As she walked, she thought about what she saw. She decided to get it out of the way right then, or she was never getting to sleep. Or Trent knew about all of this already, then he obviously hadn't put any effort into trying to prevent it, if he even wanted to. It said that these were all SHIELD's plans, not the Council or anyone else. And the documents were new, as in a few weeks old.

A door to a bunk opened and she absentmindedly walked inside. _Alright. I'll sleep on it and talk to Trent about thus first thing in the morning. It may cost me my job. _While she loved her job, despite the massive workload that had only increased in the last month or so, this was bigger than her desire to stay employed.

"Planning on joining me to bed again, Commander Hill?"

Her head shot up to gaze bemusedly at Hand's cheeky smirk. She looked around to find that she had wondered into the wrong room. A sharp sigh revealed her annoyance. "Fuck you," she said brusquely.

Hand's smirk only increased. "If you're offering, I won't say no."

She rolled her eyes and walked out. "In your dreams, Hand."

* * *

**4:36 AM**

Taking her decision into consideration earlier did nothing to help. Maria still didn't get any sleep that night. Things were weighing too heavily on her mind for her to even think about catching a wink. They said that curiosity killed the cat; she could see why.

She was at a crossroads and didn't have a clue what to do. Did she follow the book and go along with SHIELD's alleged plan, or follow her heart and take a stand? It sounded corny and it sounded like an easy choice. The small, tiny idealistic side of her was screaming to take a stand for what was right. Every other bit, however, was saying keep quiet and follow orders.

She was trained to do so. Ever since her first day in the Marines to now, she followed orders. She was straight-laced, by-the-book, following protocol no matter what. It was what made her such an effective compliment to Fury. He flew by his instincts, while she followed the rules. They played off each other so well because of it.

But, if there was one thing that she picked up from him, it was if something didn't smell right, there was something wrong. And this, this Cape Killers, civil war and HAMMER, didn't smell right.

But, if she confronted Trent and tried to put an end to it, she would lose her job, without a doubt. If that happened, she was back to square one, and a mark, because then she'd be a free agent who knew too much.

She wasn't afraid to die. She wouldn't have become a SHIELD agent if she was. This would have just been the most untimely death… _Alright, stop thinking about that._

She sighed and turned on her side. She contemplated calling Coulson and talking to him, but she knew that he wouldn't appreciate being woken up at this time of morning. Plus, he had enough on his plate already with his death and resurrection still eating away at him. She didn't want to add any more stress to his life.

Should she have just called Fury? The man had more resources than anyone on Earth. If there was anyone who could stop this, it was him.

Knowing him, though, he torched his connections with SHIELD and went off the grid a while ago. She might as well try to get in contact with Bigfoot.

_Why did I look dammit?!_ If she had've just minded her own business, followed the rule of compartmentalization and did her job without question, then she wouldn't be in this mess. Now, she had a choice to make, and the fallout was going to be a pain.


	18. Everything Was Fading Away

_**Everything Was Fading Away**_

_**7:25 AM**_

It turned out that it wasn't that big of a no-brainer, but still more of an obvious choice than she thought. She would go along with it for now. Pretend that she didn't see anything, while trying to get in contact with Fury and let him know what she saw, and what was going on. If there was anyone who could stop SHIELD, it was him.

"Commander Hill, a word in my office."

That didn't sound like a request. Either something big was going on that had him worried or… no, that had to have been it. Hill cleared her throat and followed him out of the coffee room upon placing her empty mug in the sink.

He strode quickly, easily gliding in between stagnant agents, either working or standing around talking about whatever for whatever reason. A stern look from Hill reminded them that they were on the clock.

When she followed Trent into his office, she saw Hand sitting in front of his desk, head down and hands folded in her lap. Her leg was bobbing subtly, a telltale sign that someone was either nervous or agitated.

Hill frowned and watched her sit in silence while Trent rifled through his filing cabinet, obviously himself agitated that he couldn't find something. He pulled a red folder out, a folder that looked familiar to her, and thoroughly combed through every page it contained. He cursed sharply and slammed the cabinet closed.

"Take a seat, Hill. Hand, that's all," he said in a blur, collapsing into his chair and placing the folder down in front of him. Hand stood from the chair and left, never once making eye contact with her colleague, but instead keeping her gaze intently on the carpeted floor.

Hill raised an eyebrow and sat down. "Sir, is everything okay with Hand?" she dared to ask.

"You could say that, I suppose," he answered.

He was short on words, more preoccupied with what was in that red folder. Hill frowned imperceptibly and concentrated on where she had seen it before. It was rare that she spent much time, if any, in Trent's office on any given day. Perhaps she had seen it during… _Hand, holding a miniature flashlight and a red folder from Trent's desk… p_

Recognition shone in her eyes like a dull star. So, Hand was doing some spying of her own. Which explained why she was so adamant on knowing what she was doing there last night, and why she looked so down just then.

"Agent Hill," he finally said while returning the folder to its place on his desk, "do you remember our conversation last night?"

She leaned back, folded her arms and crossed her legs before answering. "Yes, sir. I remember it just fine." Her tone was measured and clipped, but she was still salty over having been stone-walled like a Level One intern.

He nodded, as if he knew that she remembered. "Then, you recall what I told you."

It was a statement, not a question. Hill swallowed imperceptibly and nodded. "I do." A wave of anxiety washed over her. If he knew… No, he couldn't know. There weren't any cameras in the offices that she knew of. There were, however, sensors that registered all occupants upon entry, to prevent anyone that wasn't allowed inside from getting away with entering. If there was anyone not Director that was allowed inside, it was her. Even if it was well past two in the morning.

She took a calming breath and awaited what he wanted.

"Then, why were you on my computer early this morning?"

What? Her body froze as she quickly processed that statement. How did – How could he have possibly found out? There wasn't anyone in the office when she arrived, and the only one that was didn't even know what she was doing there. "I needed to look something up, sir," she answered calmly.

"Is that so?" he questioned. Incredulity dripped from his voice. "And you couldn't use _your_ laptop, why, exactly?"

She snapped her mouth shut to prevent any incriminating stammering. _Damn it! Why didn't I think of a cover story? _She hadn't thought it necessary, but she still chided herself for getting cocky. "It's at the Triskelion," she lied smoothly.

He didn't believe her. Not for a second.

"It was brought to my attention this morning that you were at my desk, actually, _under_ my desk. If you were in here for _any_ innocuous reason, any at all, then why?"

Her eyes filled with unadulterated anger and wrath and rage and she was going to kill Victoria Hand. How _dare_ she rat her out?! That… that bitch!

Maria said nothing. If she did, then her anger would have been evident and there was no way she would have been able to give a coherent answer. Then again, she should have. Not saying something incriminated herself worse than anything she could have said.

Trent sighed, a lengthy sigh born of disappointment. "That'll be all, Agent Hill."

This wasn't over, not by a long shot. Not that she cared. Her only thought was wrapping her slender fingers around Hand's pencil neck.

She stood and marched out of the room without another word. She kept her composure, ensuring that her face was free from any ill emotions. Her posture, however, revealed her hurt and angry feelings. She expected Hand to keep quiet about this, especially after what she told her about the this happening in the shadows that none of them knew about.

Unknowing agents all but threw themselves out of her path, lest they be trampled under her heavy boots.

It was an unspoken guarantee that if she kept quiet about this, Maria was going to do everything she could to make sure that whatever ill things were on the horizon never came to pass. It was one that Hand agreed to, whether she knew it or not; and the woman wasn't an idiot, so of course she knew.

Now, with Trent up her ass about it, she couldn't do anything.

Hill stormed into the coffee room, where Hand was sipping on a full mug of black while having a conversation with Sharon Carter. "Commander Hill," she said coolly upon noticing that she was there.

Her cool demeanor only proved to enrage her even more. "You got some fucking nerve, Hand."

Hand sighed tersely and placed her mug on the circular table in the center of the room. Carter's eyebrows shot up into her short blond bangs, her ocean blue eyes bouncing between the two women. "Um, what?"

Hand folded her hands in front of her and considered Hill coldly. "I do. Just as much as you do."

"_I_ do?"

"Yes. You have the nerve to spy on your _own_ organization and not expect to get caught."

Hill felt her teeth gnash together. She took two steps inside and closed the door behind her, locking all three women inside. While she was beside herself, she hadn't lost her common sense. Someone innocently walking by could overhear and get the wrong idea. "Of course I expected to not get caught. I wouldn't have if you hadn't opened your big mouth."

Hand's voice remained level and calm, despite the obvious signs that she was losing her patience. "I told Trent to protect the system. Compartmentalization is a thing for a reason, Commander Hill."

Hill took another step forward. "The system? The same system that deems it necessary to start a superhero lynch mob _and_ wage a war against them? That system? Because if so, then it doesn't need protection, it needs to be taken out back and given two to the back of its head. You talk about protecting the system, but you don't even know _what_ you're protecting. _Who_ you're hurting because you're protecting it."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Hand replied.

Carter tried to ignore everything about the lynch mob and war. It was over her head and none of her business.

Her fists balled tightly at her sides. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but she couldn't keep her composure as well as she normally could. "I would if you had've just kept your fucking trap closed!" Okay, it was definitely the lack of sleep.

"And what makes you think you have a right? If _you _of all people weren't told right away, then what makes you think that you can just waltz into your superior's office, hack into his server and read things that weren't meant for your eyes? Hm?"

There was ring of truth behind the bitterly cold responses that Hand gave. Hill tried not to pay them any mind, to remain focused on her anger, but she couldn't. "I have a right to know the truth."

"No, you don't," she retorted. "What you _do_ have is the right to what you _need_ to know to do your job. Your job, which is to support Trent in his duties and uphold the SHIELD protocol." She considered Hill with a harshly acidic gaze, appraising every inch of her with caustic scrutiny. "I'm disappointed in you, Maria. You broke protocol. You, who waved it around like a sword to cut Fury down to size when he got one of his ideas." She let out a humorless laugh, the small smile accompanying it vanishing like a drop of rain on a sunny day. "Imagine my surprise when I finally realized what you were doing."

Hill wielded the protocol like a sword, precisely slicing what needed to the removed and moving on. Hand wielded it like a war hammer, bludgeoning and smashing whatever was in her way to pieces, leaving a bloodied mess in her wake. That was the difference between the two.

"It's not like a protocol thumper," Hand continued, playing on the term "bible thumper" to further emphasize her point, "to suddenly and conveniently forget what it says about –"

"I know what it says," Hill snapped. Her fist banged against the table, with enough force to make the cool coffee in Hand's long forgotten mug to slosh out and splash against the table. "I know every word! I helped write it, damn it!"

"Then why?!" It wasn't often that Victoria Hand raised her voice. Actually, it happened around four, maybe five times in her lengthy tenure at SHIELD. The fact that it happened so rarely made it's impact that much more evident. "Why would you throw it away for something so stupid and meaningless?!"

"Because SHIELD wants to kill all the Gifted's!" Hill roared out of rage and pent up frustration. Hand's stunned silence allowed her plenty of time to gather herself and continued. "There's a lot of foul, dirty shit about to happen, Victoria. You know that as well as I do, you're not stupid."

"You're lying," Hand hissed. "Now you're just making shit up to cover your own ass."

Maria snarled and closed the remaining few feet between them until she had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact between the two of them. As an aside, it should have been in the protocol that female agents six feet in height and up should be forbidden from wearing heels. The height difference between the two was that ridiculous.

But, despite being a midget compared to Victoria, she didn't back down, not when her integrity was in question. "I am not a liar," she sounded through tightly gritted teeth. "I know what I saw. I can fucking read. I saw the words as clear as motherfucking day."

"Maybe you misunderstood?" Carter, who had been silently watching in a corner and hoping that these two stayed civil, asked. That hope had long since been quashed.

"Or, maybe she's just making it up to create doubt and mistrust toward Director Trent," Hand suggested, vitriol lacing her words.

"If there's any doubt or mistrust thrown his way, it's because he _is_ untrustworthy," Hill fired back.

"Because Fury was _so_ trustworthy, wasn't he?" Hand smirked tauntingly, knowing that Hill knew well he wasn't as well as she did. "That's what your problem is, isn't it? He isn't Fury, so you don't like him." Her arms folded tightly across her chest and she leaned down to loom menacingly over Hill. "Fury getting fired was his own fault, no one else's. You of all people should realize that. The mere fact that you're resisting our Director smacks of childish presumptuousness and blatant idiocy."

Hill's eyes narrowed into a ice cold glare that made people like Barton and Stark freeze in their tracks. Being loomed over didn't scare her in the least. If anything, it only made the urge to punch Hand in the face all the harder to resist. Being condescended to and called a child, presumptuous _and_ an idiot didn't do much to make it better. "You need to get out of my face," she said in a low, dangerously calm voice.

"You need to grow up," she replied, her voice just as low, just as dangerously calm.

The tension between them was like a violent lightning storm, jolting through the air and suffocating everyone with its intensity. Neither woman moved, nor did they even blink. It was a game of chicken, a game to see who would blink and back off first. Both of these women had egos, despite their success in suppressing them. They both got to where they were through hard work and blood, sweat and tears born from years of sacrifice and refusal to fold under the withering gaze of responsibility. They both had earned the right to be proud.

Feelings of betrayal and anger filled Maria's heart. Knowing that she was being ridiculed for her beliefs by someone she considered a friend, made the hurt even worse.

They didn't take their eyes off on another until Carter placed a firm hand on their shoulders. "Alright, all alpha females please report to opposite corners of the room. Now."

A pregnant pause elapsed before the two silent combatants backed slowly to opposite ends not the room. Even then, their eyes never broke contact.

"You should start wearing skirts, Hill," Hand said coolly with a wry smirk. "They'll give you more room since you've grown too big for your britches."

A parting shot after the ceasefire, one that Hill didn't appreciate. "Go fuck yourself, _Vic_," Hill retorted. Hand's smirk fell away like lightning at hearing the much hated shortened version of her name spoken with such toxicity. Hill smirked haughtily and folded her arms over her chest.

"That's enough, the both of you. You've both had your say, now please stop." Carter sighed patiently and swept her hair out of her face as an excuse to take a moment to compose herself. "There _might_ be _some_ validity to what Hill saw," she said after a moment. "This isn't the first time we've heard that accusation."

It had been two months since Thor accused SHIELD of planning to commit genocide. They all dismissed it as Hydra creating a reason to mistrust SHIELD. Predictably, it didn't work.

"That was Hydra lying to fool the Avengers into mistrusting SHIELD and Fury," Hand pointed out.

"Yeah, but… still, it's suspect that we now have a second source. A more reputable one at that." Carter furrowed her brows and tilted her head toward the floor. Hill could see the wheels turning in her head.

_Well, at least someone believes me._ "We should bring this up to Trent, see how he reacts," she suggested.

"You can't waste his time with this nonsense," Hand said sharply. "It's –"

"Eat a dick, Hand. I'm doing just that." Hill looked her up and down, disgust permeating off of her like a foul musk, before opening the door and walking out.

The clacking of heels revealed Victoria walking after her. Hill picked up her pace and smoothly swerved in and out of the heavy foot traffic.

She beat her there and quickly knocked on the door. "Come in," she heard from inside.

"Director Trent, we need to talk," she stated once she closed the door behind her.

Trent leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. "Okay. About?"

"About the Cape Killers, civil war and HAMMER," she said bluntly. Depending on his reaction, she would decide whether or not to trust him with anything. There was no doubt that he knew what everything she had just listed was, likely in great detail.

His face stayed neutral. "Okay. What about them?"

"So, you know about them?"

"Yes. Again, what about them is your problem?"

Hill frowned and kept her hands flat against her thighs. "My problem, sir, is that genocide is unethical."

To that, he laughed. "Genocide? That's what you think this is? Genocide?" He smiled, almost in a manner that a parent would when confronted with a confused child. "Hill, HAMMER is purely a protocol to combat _problem_ Gifted's. That's it. If any become too much of a problem, then we drop the hammer. Pure and simple."

Okay. She didn't have time to read through the whole entire document before Hand walked in, so she might have missed that. And, it made sense to have a plan to deal with Gifted people who were too much for prisons to contain.

"And civil war is just a term we coined for the inevitable push back. The Cape Killers are our task force to enact the HAMMER protocol."

Hill's frowned deepened. That all sounded well and good, but she still had a nagging feeling that there was something he wasn't telling her. Before she could say anything, he cut her off. "Listen, you've had a long month. Take a week off and then get back to me."

Hill was, for once, stunned into silence. While her concerns were still eating away at her, an entire week off was just what she had been secretly praying for. For two reasons. One, she needed to get away from suits and have some time to herself, and two, she needed to contact Fury and see what he knew about this. "Thank you, sir."

He nodded. "Get some rest. You deserve it."

There was something about his smile. Something… unnatural about it that made her very much want to leave as quickly as possible.

_**A/N:**__ So, who do you all believe? Hill, who admittedly hasn't gotten a lot of sleep, so she probably isn't thinking straight, and she was admittedly only skimming through it so she wouldn't get caught? Or Trent, the guy who knows the whole plan, probably came up with the plan, and has no reason to lie, supposedly?_


	19. Running Red

_**A/N: **__Major character death upcoming._

* * *

_**Running Red**_

When Maria stepped foot off the quinjet that took her from the helicarrier to the docking harbor in DC, or the crater formerly known as DC, the first thing she did upon driving to the nearest city that wasn't a giant, gaping hole was find a bar and get drunk. She didn't give a damn if it was still before noon. The second thing she did was find the hottest guy in said bar, take him to the nearest motel and thoroughly release all the pent up aggression that had been building and coming to a boil over the last three months.

It was nice. Sex happened every once in a blue moon for her, being so busy and, frankly, kind of picky about her bedmates. Also, women like her tended to intimidate most men. Something about not wanting to sleep with their boss, who just so happened to be an "ice queen".

She spent the first of her _**seven**_ whole days off catching up on all the sleep that she lost during her increased workload. She hadn't realized how tired she actually was until she laid her head down on a semi-comfortable bed and allowed herself to just sleep. She ended up sleeping for over thirty-seven hours. Thirty-seven hours spent well.

She awoke a day and a half later and caught a flight from Baltimore, where she had spent the nights, to Chicago, her home town, then caught a train to Portage, where her safehouse was located. Being back and so close to Chicago for a extended period of was a bittersweet visit. Her childhood could have only been described as disappointing. Her father hated her guts for her mother dying during childbirth, and she hated his guts for putting that tragedy at her feet. Their relationship only soured as she got older, to the point that they didn't even think about each other nowadays, much less speak. She didn't know where he was or what he was doing, and she couldn't have cared less.

But, five days off made everything better.

She sent a text to Coulson as soon as she touched down to meet her at a local bar as soon as he could. He replied that he was en route and would be there within an hour. While she waited, she debated with herself on whether she should tell Coulson what she saw or not. She didn't want him to get caught up in this mess. The man already had too much on his plate to deal with as it was.

Then again, Trent's explanation was… unbelievable, at best. She knew what she saw, and it didn't just add up to what he told her.

_Or, maybe I'm just being paranoid._

It was a possibility. She was the one who spent the most time with Fury, who was the most paranoid man that she, or anyone else at SHIELD, knew. His habits were terrible, and it was the bad habits that always rubbed off on other people like a bad odor.

She swirled her drink around, the slowly melting ice cubes clinked softly against the light brown glass. She suddenly found herself losing the urge to get buzzed. She had acted like a paranoid asshole to Hand, who was only doing her job. It was protocol to report offenses to superior officers when one was privy to them. It wasn't what she would have done, not without an explanation first, but she finally could see why Hand did so.

A phone call and apology were in order, and Hill wasn't looking forward to it. She hated being wrong, and she hated having to apologize to people for it.

It was the worst. _Well, guess I'd better eat crow now. Shit. Hand had better not be an ass and rub it in._

She brought the glass up to her lips and swallowed the cold amber liquid that flowed inside. The hard taste burned down her throat, causing her to distort her face in discomfort. God, how long had it been since she'd had any hard liquor? She must have looked like an amateur.

Trent was right about one thing. The less people that knew, the less likely it would get out. Not that she didn't trust Coulson. She trusted him more than anyone at SHIELD. It was everyone else that she didn't trust.

She was a spy, and a well known one at that. If anyone got wind that she was here and that she knew intimate information about SHIELD, she'd be a prime target. Same with Coulson. Hydra, as weak as it probably and likely was, was still a threat, and had agents everywhere.

…Even in SHIELD. Damn it, that was why Trent was so mum. They literally didn't know who they could trust yet. While they had rooted out most of the double agents during their very lengthy time in the Negative Zone, there were still agents stationed around the world that still hadn't been scrutinized yet.

_God, I'm such an idiot! _

Well, that settled it. She was definitely keeping her trap closed until Trent gave the word. Hell, Carter or Hand could have been double agents and she damn near screamed SHIELD's plans from the mountains like a drunk prophetess. That would also explain why Hand was snooping around Trent's office early that morning. She wondered if Trent knew about that. If he didn't, then she was going to show Hand up and not say a word about it. Or, maybe she should. Was that _really_ why Hand reported her? Because she thought _she_ was a double agent? She wasn't sure how she felt about that if that was the case.

She was loyal to SHIELD, more so than probably anyone. She would have given anything and everything for SHIELD. Her life was SHIELD, and SHIELD was her life. If there was anyone who could be discounted as being a double agent based on name alone, it was her.

Actually, that would make her a prime suspect. It was always the most loyal ones, those that claimed that they would give anything for the system, that ended up being the spies. It was always the ones that were least suspected.

Her fingers rapped against the worn wood of the bar counter, her other hand propping up her head. This was going to be a long-term problem, she could see.

"You know, when Trent said he gave you the week off, I could hardly believe him." A fond smile touched her lips, and she turned her head to acknowledge Coulson's appearance. The man wasn't wearing his suit jacket, but still had his "uniform" on with the sleeves rolled up. "You look better."

"I feel better," she affirmed. Coulson took a moment to order a scotch on the rocks and took a seat at the bar beside her. Being in public meant that work was not to be discussed. Good. "Finally got about thirty-five hours of sleep, _and_ I got laid, so it's been good."

Coulson smirked wryly and took a swig of his drink. Hill did the same while he responded. "Sounds nice. With as much work as you've been doing lately, you deserve it."

"Let's not start with what I deserve. I might start to feel a little entitled." With as much of her thoughts days ago had been preoccupied with what she had a right to know, entitlement was last thing she wanted to delve into.

He nodded knowingly. "Hand told me."

"Bitch," she huffed sharply. "Wait, what all did she tell you?"

"That you did something that you weren't supposed to do," was all he said in reply. Whether that was what Hand said to protect him, or what _he_ was saying to protect SHIELD, she didn't know.

She had the decency to look ashamed. "Yeah, I… uh… I fucked up there. Lack of sleep plus paranoia equaled me… doing that."

He, again, nodded knowingly. "Carter said you two nearly got into a fight." He appeared to be struggling to contain himself.

She rolled her eyes and hid her smirk behind her glass. She slid it to the bartender for a refill. "Yeah, I guess we did. Two alpha females in the same room. It was bound to happen."

"Hey, it happens. I can't even remember how many times Fury and I nearly came to blows over stuff."

"Let me guess, the most recent time was over those trading cards?" she guessed with a smirk.

He chuckled lightly. "And you'd be right. Can you believe he _still_ hasn't reimbursed me? Not even an apology."

She shook her head.

"And, come to think of it, I don't think he gave Ms. Potts her apology basket."

"Apology basket?"

"He was unnecessarily mean to Ms. Potts while recruiting Colonel Rhodes for the New Avengers. I made him agree to give her an apology basket as a peace offering. He hasn't yet, to my knowledge," he explained with a completely serious expression.

Hill laughed for a good thirty seconds. It felt good to finally be able to laugh and just not be so serious at every waking moment. "Well," she said once her mirth finally died down to a gentle chuckle every now and then, "now he has plenty of time to get that done. How's she doing, by the way?"

Coulson's smile died a little, drawing back into a worried frown. "Well enough, I guess. I hadn't spoken to her in a few weeks. Been busy and all. But, the last I spoke with her, she _said_ that she was holding up okay. Relying on work to keep her busy." He stared silently into his drink for a moment before adding, "The quiet moments at home are the worst, she said."

She could understand that. The quiet moments were always the ones that a woman remembered the most. The moments when it was just her and him, together. Not that she knew what that was like; she was just guessing. "Must be tough, dealing with the quiet. Stark wasn't exactly silent."

He breathed out a chuckle. "AC/DC is banned from Stark Industries, along with Black Sabbath. And please don't get her started on the Iron Man documentary that Marvel Studios is cooking up. She's about to sue them for something."

"Something?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"She isn't sure what, but anything to get them to scrap the thing." He shrugged and took another swig.

She took one of hers and basked in the comfortable silence that a multi-year friendship carried with it. The silence was never awkward, just devoid of conversation. She wanted to ask about Phil's pseudo girlfriend, Audrey Nathan, but didn't want to seem like she was prying into his personal life. He didn't talk about her for a reason, after all. "Have you spoken to Audrey recently… she asked before she could stop herself," she chided herself with a light facepalm.

Coulson, thankfully, just smiled and crossed his arms atop the bar. "I haven't, actually. She still thinks I'm dead."

And that was why she didn't want to ask. "Right… sorry."

"No, it's fine." He sighed deeply. "It's for the best. My job is too dangerous to try and worm my way back into her life. If she's moved on, all the better."

She didn't miss the sad undertone in her voice. She decided to just drop it right there. "Don't let me hold you up too long."

He looked at his watch and sighed. "You're not, but I should probably get back. I have to pick up _your_ slack," he said, but without any bitterness.

"Wow. Sucks to be you." She smiled and paid for both their drinks, insisting on paying for the older man's since she made him come all this way for ultimately a brief chat.

The bar door creaked when Hill pushed it open and led Coulson outside. A cool fall breeze rolled through and pushed across her face. She breathed in, but not too deeply. City air wasn't the freshest or best smelling. "Thanks for coming out."

"Thanks for paying for my drink. I forgot my wallet." He laughed cheekily and pulled her in for a light hug. "Try to enjoy yourself, okay?"

She tried not to melt into his embrace, but kind of did anyway. "I'll try. I have a few things I need to take care –"

"Maria," he reprimanded.

She pulled away to look at him with confused eyes. "What? I've already gotten laid."

"Get laid twice more." When she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, he smiled sheepishly. "I, uh, have a bet with May and Quartermain on how many times you have sex this week? I bet on three."

She punched him on the arm. "You are unbelievable!"

"Ow! What? We were bored that day and this was an unprecedented occasion!"

She huffed and turned away to hail an incoming cab. "I'll be sure to buy a chastity belt tomorrow." She smirked at his forlorn look. "What? Am I losing you money?"

"Yes. A lot of it."

"Wow. Sucks to be you." She smiled and climbed into the cab. She waved goodbye and made a mental note to punch Quartermain and protest to May about betting on her sex life.

As soon as he was out of view, she immediately remembered what she needed to do.

* * *

The street her SHIELD safehouse was situated on was quiet.

Too quiet.

It was a, thankfully, quiet neighborhood, but this was uncharacteristic. It was close to 10:30 PM; there should have been someone out, even if for a moment.

There was no one to be found. The lights inside the apartments were all turned out, as if they had all left for the night. Which should have been impossible, as the Cubs were playing tonight in Oakland.

She breathed in deeply and paid the cabbie before climbing out and quickly walking to her front door. Out of the corner of her eye, a black van pulled into the street and slowly crept down the road in front of the cab.

Her instincts kicked into overdrive. As soon as she entered her safehouse, she barricaded the door, locking every lock, setting the chain and sliding a bookshelf in front of the door. She then reached under a table by the door and pulled out a .50 caliber handgun, fully loaded. Also under the table was a burner phone. Only one number was programmed into it.

If there was someone out there, they weren't going to catch her by surprise. The few windows that weren't already barricaded were closed and covered up with a steel cover designed just for quick and easy security. She pressed herself against the far wall after doing a thorough sweep of the building for bugs and intruders, facing the door, and dialed the one number.

_"Fury."_

Hearing his voice brought a wave of relief and familiarity that she hadn't been expecting. "Hi, Nick."

_"I was wondering when I'd hear from you, Maria."_ There was a ring of amusement in his voice, one that coaxed a fond smile out of her. _"This is business?"_

She sighed heavily. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. I hacked into the new Director's server. I… saw some things that have me concerned… and a bit scared." The latter part as whispered quietly, as is someone was there to hear her admittance.

_"The civil war and HAMMER, I presume."_

She couldn't help but laugh, albeit softly. Of course he already knew. "Right. He said that it was a procedure to take out supervillains, but I don't believe him." She paused for a moment, then asked, "What have you found?"

Fury was silent for a moment of time that Maria felt was too long for her liking. In the silence, she could hear her own heart thumping in her chest. _"You told him that you knew."_

And just like that, Maria realized that she had just made a very, very grave mistake. A rookie mistake that could cost her quite a bit. "I –"

_"Where are you?"_

"In my safehouse in Portage, thirty miles from Chicago. Trent gave me the week off."

He cursed sharply. _"Damn it, Maria. You need to leave, now."_

Then room was quiet. She didn't even have a clock to fill in part of the deafening silence. She could clearly hear her heart beating like a drum, her breath quickening as her mind raced through paranoid scenarios five at a time.

She heard creaks outside. Someone was walking up the rickety old wooden stairs leading up to her safehouse. It seemed that everyone had left for a night out on the town, so the building right next to hers was empty. Maybe the people next to her had finally returned home?

Her heart was racing, adrenaline heightening her senses to near superhuman levels. She heard someone whispering right outside her door. _"Maria!"_ Fury bellowed into the phone. "_You're in danger! You have to leave right now!"_

"Hang on, sweetie," she said in a loud, sugary sweet voice. "The letter's on the table."

The front door, her only safe way out and their way in, was blocked by the bookshelf. That was good, but she couldn't see what was going on outside because the door's peephole was blocked. She slowly backed away from then door, when a solid thud sounded from the other side.

Then, an soft, ominous beep pinged every few seconds. A beep that sent a vapid chill up her spine.

She dove out of the way in time to avoid the small explosion that tipped the bookcase over. It landed with a solid thud, books spilled across the floor. Four people rushed inside, each one brandishing an assault rifle.

A purely concussive explosive, made to mimic someone just kicking the door in. Smart. Whoever this was was on their game. Then, so was she.

She tumbled across the floor, firing three shots from her handgun. One shot missed, but the latter two struck the lead assailant in the abdomen. He dropped his rifle and collapsed. Blood dripped from his wound, through his black body armor and onto the hardwood floor. Before the others could train their rifles on her, she dashed further inside the apartment, toward her bedroom.

Reaching under her bed, she pulled out an M4 heavy assault rifle, loaded with .50 caliber rounds. The bed itself was then flipped on its side. It was lightweight and designed for just that purpose, with a four inch piece of steel under the mattress.

The door was kicked opened. She popped up and opened fire. The heavy assault rifle barked like an angry Rottweiler, tearing through the wall as the intruders jumped for cover to avoid getting hit.

She knew as well as they did that they couldn't afford for the police to be called. If any of them were found with military grade artillery, then they all were going to jail. But, unlike them, she had a SHIELD badge on her person, which was her get out of jail free card. Them, well, she didn't know who they were, but they weren't going to be so lucky if they stuck around for much longer.

One fell to a shot to the head, his helmet punctured like Styrofoam. Then another after suffering almost a dozen hits to the chest. A second later, the third and final fell, suffering multiple hits to her head, neck and torso. She ceased fire, her breathing erratic and ragged, her heart racing like a Ferrari down a straightaway.

Her shaking hands dropped the rifle momentarily. Who were these guys and what the fuck did they want from her? Her search for ID came up fruitless. She didn't recognize their faces, nor did they have any identifying logos on them. The armor didn't even look remotely familiar.

Damn it.

Whatever, she didn't have time to wonder and ponder this. She had to get to a safe place, then contact a SHIELD cleanup crew to sweep these fucks under a rug before she got a hold of Fury again.

She fished around in the back of her closet until she produced a bulletproof vest. If these guys were military, and their firepower indicated that they were, then this would likely provide little protection. Well, it was better than nothing in any case. She strapped it on and made sure everything was secure before she grabbed her rifle, her handgun and an extra revolver along with some spar ammo, and snuck out.

Before she managed to leave, she noticed that the first man was gone. There wasn't a blood trail leading from her foyer outside, so he was probably dragged out. Meaning there were more of these guys around here somewhere. She made sure her rifle still had ammo -it had plenty- and headed out.

She didn't hear any sirens in the distance, or anything else for that matter. Surely someone would be brave enough to venture outside to check what was happening if they heard a miniature war going on across the street in an otherwise abandoned apartment complex. But, not a soul was to be found, not even in the distance.

Maria didn't like it. It was too easy and these guys were too well armed and equipped to be a quartet of random punks.

She took off in a sprint to the east, close to the building. There were an assortment of parked cars further down the road that she hoped she could hot-wire in record time to get to safety. She didn't know where their backup was, but she wasn't taking any chances.

_Let's go to war_

_To make peace._

_Let's be cold_

_To create heat._

The streets were silent. Too silent. Her heart was pumping and her breathing bounced in unison with her rapid steps. There was no one on the street, or in any of the buildings. All the lights were out, with the exception of the street lights.

_It was an ambush._

Her mind came to the grim conclusion too late.

_I'm going in for the kill._

_I'm doing it for a thrill._

_Oh, I'm hoping you understand_

_And don't let go of my hand._

A sharp, furiously burning pain seared through one side of her ribcage and out the other. She grunted and collapsed to the ground.

Well, she was right. These guys were military, with sniper backup _and_ armor piercing rounds. Her rinky dink Kevlar vest stood no chance.

Her heart was pumping furiously, her breathing ragged and it hurt to breath or do anything that pushed anything against her chest. Her chest hurt, and that pain was bringing with it a numbness that was starting at her fingers and toes and steadily making its way inward. Her vision was swimming, small little dots bounced around the edges of her sight, steadily growing darker with each second.

She tried to laugh. She wanted to, honestly. What would Nick say if he saw her? _Goddamn rookie mistake, Hill. I told you those are the ones that cost you. _Old bastard.

Too deep a breath set of a coughing fit that pushed more blood out of the bullet holes. Fluid was seeping into her lungs, she could feel it as she coughed. Whoever shot her was a pro; managed to get both lungs, she thought. Good. She was _just_ conceited enough to want to be taken out by a professional assassin, not some street punk who fell ass backwards into some heavy artillery. Living in Chicago made the latter a strong possibility, so she was glad to have avoided that way out.

Such was life. She found herself being happy having to die one way and not some other way. Given her job, she figured she'd be taken out on the job, not from an ambush on her third of seven days off.

The irony didn't escape her.

_Fuck the world._

Looked like Coulson was about to lose some money, after all.

And it looked like dear old dad was going to get exactly what he wanted all along. A dead daughter to avenge his beloved wife's death. That fucking bastard. That fucking, self-centered, alcoholic son of a bitch.

She coughed again, a soft gurgling noise that brought up gobs of coppery blood with it. It hurt to cough, and it was fruitless anyway. Her lungs were quickly filling with blood. She was drowning, and was too weak to struggle.

She bet he would be happy to see her like this. Fucking overjoyed to see her face down on the cold hard ground, bleeding like a faucet and coughing up blood. She hated him. She hated her father with every fiber of her being, and if she knew she could get a way with it, she would have riddled his sorry ass with lead a long time ago. Now, some asshole took that chance away from her.

_Fuck you, dad._

The sudden anger only made her heart beat faster, which filled her lungs with more blood. Red, blood foam leaked from the corners of her mouth. She couldn't breathe. She was going to drown to death on her own blood.

Of all the ways to go, she should have known that she wasn't going to get a quick, painless death. With all the shit she allowed d to happen, the universe was going to be damned if it allowed her to go peacefully.

She was too weak to struggle and too weak to stay awake. She was so tired. Tired of being strong for everyone else. Tired of holding everything in. Tired of working for someone else's benefit and tired of fighting with herself to keep herself sane.

Darkness enclosed on her vision. _Phil, I'm sorry it turned out this way, _she thought regretfully. _Nick, I'm sorry for not saying goodbye. Daisy_… A weak little smile crawled across her bloodied, pale lips. She had really grown fond of Johnson over the last few weeks. The kid was good. Nick clearly knew what he was doing when he recruited her. She saw a lot of herself in her. She was going to be someone important down the road. _Be good, kid._

Her only regret was that SHIELD was in bad hands. Trent and his people were going to ruin everything good about it in their quest to… do whatever it was that they wanted to do. She only hoped that Coulson and all the good ones kept up the good fight. She hoped that they picked up where she left off and fought until they couldn't fight anymore.

She was tired of fighting.

With one final gasp, she stopped fighting and let go.


	20. A Completely Different Story

_**A Completely Different Story**_

**Helicarrier 01**

_Coulson was sleeping peacefully in his bunk in the 01 Insight helicarrier. Or, at least as peacefully as one could be in the cramped quarters. He was dreaming about enjoying a picnic on the beach with Audrey. She was so beautiful in her yellow sundress and oversized and floppy hat. Her smile was just as bright as the summer sun set high in the clear blue sky._

_"Phil," she said. "I – RIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIING_

_Coulson was ripped violently and mercilessly from his slumber by the infernal repetitious trill that was his generic ringtone. At least it wasn't that obnoxious rock song that Skye kept changing it to whenever she got her mitts on his phone. _

_He gripped the small shrieking demon as if he was trying to squeeze the life out of it and answered the call. "Hello?" he said, voice tight with annoyance._

_"Phil," said the woman on the other end._

_"Yeah, what is it?"_

_"I– I just got back from Trent's office. I–"_

_"Christ. Get on with it already!" he demanded of whoever it was._

_"Hill's dead," she said, in a blunt tone that could only be May._

_"Impossible," he said before hanging up. "Note to self: feed that agent their own ass." If they wanted to be reassigned to the Antarctica outpost, there were easier ways to do it than playing some sick joke._

_Coulson sunk back into bed and got comfortable before attempting to fall back asleep. Just as he was about to drift off, some asshole starting banging on his door. "What the fricking hell?!"_

_He slammed his fist down on the button to slide the door open, only to be confronted with a very visibly angry May. "Melinda?"_

_"Did you not hear what I just said, Phil?" she hissed fiercely._

_That was her who called? Meaning… Oh God. No nonononononono God no, please. His mouth opened and stammered, groping for anything to say._

_Her voice dipped significantly, as did her eyes. She sighed shakily as she repeated herself. "She's dead, Phil." _

**The Next Afternoon – 1:15 PM**

He couldn't believe it. He was right there with her last night! They were talking, laughing, drinking like old buddies! She couldn't be dead. She couldn't. She wasn't allowed to be dead. The woman must have thought he was joking when he said that SHIELD needed her more than she knew. How dare her just allow herself to be killed and force them to realize just _how much_ they needed her.

How dare her?!

Now, Coulson wasn't some wide-eyed rookie, fresh out of the academy and spending all of his time dreaming up fantasies of him being a real world 007, shooting bad guys and sleeping with smoking hot 'Coulson Girls'. He was a grizzled veteran who had been doing this for over three decades. He knew the routine. He knew how the game was played. He had lost friends and colleagues to the job more times than he cared to remember. He had even lost _himself_, though he was somehow pulled back from the jaws of death.

But, this was different. He didn't lose Maria to the job. He lost her to chance. The good book said that times and unforeseen occurrences befell them all. That was why it hurt so much when he found out that she was gone for good. She didn't die doing her job, she died because some punk decided to take her out for whatever reason.

It wasn't fair.

Coulson sat in silence at the round table in the coffee room, where he and his closest friends often spent quiet moments when they could both find and spare them. May was to his left, sipping quietly on a mug of steaming green tea. Beside her was Carter, staring wistfully at her fingernails. They, to her, seemed more interesting that whatever else was going on outside the room. Sitwell stood stoically on the corner by the sink, arms folded over his chest. On the counter by his hip rested a manila folder, which contained the autopsy report performed by the Portage PD coroner.

Hand was pacing the floor, hands clasped tightly behind her back. Her expression was calm and neutral, but her body language betrayed her restlessness.

The news of Hill's demise had spread throughout the branches of SHIELD like a wildfire. Only those in remote locations and on undercover missions didn't know. She wasn't liked by everyone, but she was known by almost all but the newest agents.

Surprisingly, it was May who broke the tense silence first. "Are you going to read that or not?"

She never looked up from her mug, but her question was directed toward Sitwell. "Can't," he answered shortly. "Trent's eyes first."

"What's the hold up?" Carter asked, her tone every bit as curt.

"In a meeting."

"To determine the new Deputy Director," Hand clarified.

"Oh." Carter removed a pocket knife from somewhere and started cleaning the inside of her fingernails.

"Not at the table," May chastised.

Carter gave her a cross look before re-situating herself away from the table. Moments like that were frequently occurring. Comments that would heave normally elicited an eye roll and a sarcastic remark very nearly sparked arguments or fistfights. People were on edge. Losing a coworker so suddenly always set people on edge.

The floor was made of Fabergé egg shells and everyone was walking on stilts. Care was taken to an exaggerated degree to ensure that no one was sent spiraling over the edge. In a place that carried over four dozen weapons, it was vital to not antagonize someone, intentionally or not, by making an ill-advised joke or a misguided attempt to comfort someone. It was best to not say anything at all if one didn't know what to say.

"Can I just say something?" Carter asked.

"Go ahead. free country," Hand answered.

Sitwell barked out a laugh. "Funny you should say that."

Carter ignored him and pressed on. "Am I the only one around here who finds it a little suspect that just days after Hill supposed finds something on Trent's server, she's found dead?"

The room went dead silent, more so that it had been just minutes earlier. While that silence had been tense and uncomfortable, this was born of pure shock and disbelief.

Sitwell unfolded his arms and approached her carefully. "What are you saying, Agent Carter?"

She didn't back down an inch. "You know exactly what I'm saying, Agent Sitwell."

"He put a hit out on her? Really?" Sitwell almost laughed, and would have if the notion wasn't so ridiculous. He just shook his head and returned to his corner and refolded his arms over his chest. "That's asinine."

Carter sighed tersely and returned her pocketknife to her jacket pocket. "Not really, it's not. The woman knew too much and had some time on her hands. If she was really still as adamant that something was going on as she was a few days ago, why not try and do some solo investigating?" She shrugged and leaned back.

"Or try and find Fury," Coulson added.

"In case you've forgotten, she was the _Deputy Director_. You don't just cancel the Deputy," Sitwell enunciated slowly, clearly irritated by the direction the conversation had taken.

"And he's the Director," she countered. "He could get away with it if he wanted to."

On cue, Trent walked in. Luckily for Sharon, he appeared to have missed the conspiratorial speculation. "Is that the coroner's report?" he asked Sitwell.

He nodded and handed it to him.

Trent spent several minutes carefully combing through every word that the report had to offer. Coulson could hear him mumbling certain sections of it to himself, probably to make sure he had the full sense of it. It only made his own desire to see what it said for himself grow exponentially.

He was surprised to hear that the investigation was moving so quickly. They had already determined several suspects and were just awaiting orders to move in to make an arrest or two. Predictably, they were mum about the details, only offering broad, vague answers when questioned by agents not privy to the investigation.

Trent handed the folder back to Sitwell, who placed it on the center of the table. "Agent Hand, a word?"

Hand nodded once and followed him out.

Coulson managed to snatch the folder away before Carter could get to it. He opened it and read it aloud slowly.

_County of Chicago_

_Examination at Forensic Science Center_

_Chief Medical Examiner – Coroner_

_Pronounced By: __Dr. Simpson__…__Case Reported: __9-16-13__…__Time: __0155_

_By: __Det. Montoya of PPD – Homicide__ … Phone: __047-3940_

_Name of Decedent:…First: __Maria__ …Middle: __Francisca__ …Last: __Hill_

_Date of Death: …Month, Day, Year: __9-15-13__ …Hour: __2240 (Approx.)_

_Marital Status: __Single__ …Birthplace of Decedent: __Illinois__ …Date of Birth: __4-3-83__ …Age: __32_

_Primary Occupation: __CLASSIFIED_

_Usual Residence: __CLASSIFIED_

_Place of Death: __Willow Creek Estates_

_Street Address: __5990 Wonderland Drive__ …City: __Portage__ …County: __Chicago_

_Place of Injury: __Residence__ …At Work: __No__ …Month, Day, Year: __9-15-13__ …Hour: __2238 (Approx.)_

_Location: __See Place of Death_

_**IDENTIFICATION**__: _

_Visual By: __Joseph Hill_

_Address: __320 W Illinois Street #1289, River Side Park Apartments, Chicago_

_**NOTIFICATION**__:_

_Next of Kin: __Joseph Hill, 320 W Illinois Street #1289, River Side Park Apartments, Chicago_

_Relationship: Cousin__ …Notified: __Yes__…By: __At Scene__ …Date: __9-15-13_

_Brought in By: _

_Name: __Renee Montoya__ …Date/Time: __9-15-13__ at __0110 __(marked as coroner's case)_

_Door Sealed …PA …CME…X Not_

_Reported PA…Yes…X No_

_Evidence Taken…Meds…X Other.…Not_

_Prints …X Yes…No_

_Clothing…X Yes…No_

_A.S. Photo…X Yes…No_

Hosp. Report.…_X Yes …No_

Property…_X Yes…No_

_Note…Yes…No_

_Rec. No.…37594 73947_

_**Physical Description**__: _

_Face I.D. Viewable:…X Yes…No_

_Age: __32__…Race: __Caucasian__…Ht: __5'8__…Wt: __132__…Hair: __Black__…Eyes: __Blue_

_Teeth –_

"Are you really going to read the _entire_ thing out loud?" Sitwell asked incredulously.

"I was wondering if someone was going to stop me." A light smirk touched his lips, but it was forced. There was something wrong with this report. It was small, but something wasn't right.

May noticed and silently beckoned him to elaborate.

"Maria doesn't have a cousin named Joseph. That I know of, at least. She's never mentioned him before," he revealed.

It was possible that it was an honest mistake, but something like that seemed too innocuous to be worth the risk of lying to investigators. Further, if it was on the up and up, then why hadn't she mentioned him before, like during their little chat at the bar? It was possible that she didn't know this Joseph was coming, but…

"What does the synopsis say?" May asked.

Coulson quickly scanned it, picking out key points to mention so he wouldn't have to read the entire thing. "The gist is that she was shot twice in the torso, once in the upper right and once the bottom left. Cause of death was drowning, due to blood filling her lungs. Also found at the scene was her cousin Joseph, who suffered two gunshot wounds to the abdomen. Three nine millimeter caliber casings were found in Hill's apartment. Two matched the ones found in Joseph's abdomen, while the third was found in the front door jamb. Two casings were found outside.

"Hill was found unarmed and on her stomach, with blood drops leading away to her body, as well as the slant of the entry wounds, indicating that she was running while she was shot. Further analysis indicated that Hill was shot with a nine millimeter hand gun."

Phil was trying to piece together a timeline based on the synopsis in the report, but was coming up empty. His original thought was a home invasion, given the round fired into the doorframe. But, she was shot outside. Unless she was shot inside and staggered outside. Maybe she was trying to get to help when she just gave out. "Home invasion?"

May shrugged and took one sip of her forgotten tea before sighing in disgust and pushing it aside. "Maybe. Who knows?"

Coulson sighed and closed the folder. "Well, at least she wasn't alone, whoever this guy is."

"We should send him a card," Carter suggested quietly.

To that, Coulson nodded while handing the folder back to a tight-lipped Sitwell. He paused to consider the bespectacled man close as he walked out.

"…shouldn't have let them look…," he muttered to himself before vanishing out of hearing range.

Coulson shared a wary glance with May. "Trip to Chicago?"

May smirked. "Actually, I have a better idea."

_**A/N: **__Just to note, since this story is set in 2013 like the ones before it, Coulson doesn't know about Project TAHITI, the method used to bring him back to life as revealed on Agents of SHIELD, as of yet._


	21. A New Player Appears

_**A New **__**Player Appears**_

**2:30 PM**

"Deputy Director Victoria Hand. I like it. It has a nice ring to it." Coulson smiled and patted the newly appointed Deputy on the back.

"Thank you, Coulson." Hand sighed and placed a box filled with her work related belongings on her shiny new desk. It, thankfully, wasn't Hill's old office, but the one next to it. She started pulling things out of it and placing them on the desk. "I only wish it came under… better circumstances."

Coulson grimaced. It sounded like she was taking this especially hard, though she would never admit it. It was hard to imagine that Victoria Hand was a woman with a heart of flesh, not ice. It was hard to imagine that she could actually develop a relationship with another human being that was completely devoid of work related issues. It was hard to imagine that she cared about anyone.

It was hard to imagine a lot of things about her, but his views changed when she placed a framed phone on the corner of her desk, the actual photo facing toward her. Her black eyes lingered on the photo; they steadily grew red, and threatened to unleash a deluge if she didn't stop looking at said photo.

She managed to tear her gaze from it and look at Coulson coldly. Unintentionally, he was certain, but necessarily to maintain the illusion that she was just fine. He played along. "About Carter's conspiratorial ramblings?"

"I'll keep it to myself." It hadn't taken her long to learn her lesson. The last thing anyone wanted was _another_ agent being shot up, _**if**_what Carter said was true. Which, at this point, was a tossup. Coulson wasn't sure what side of the fence he resided on.

A pregnant silence filled the air. Victoria busied herself with filling out the rest of the empty space on her desk, while Phil was just standing there awkwardly with his hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes, every so often, darted toward the frame on the corner. His curiosity over what about it made her so emotional finally got the better of him. His reached over and picked it up.

It was a photo of Victoria and Maria at the SHIELD Christmas party three years ago. Barton and Romanoff had made everyone where those godawful Christmas sweaters that were ugly, itchy and a size too big on everyone. Romanoff claimed to have knitted each and every one of them by hand as a means to guilt everyone into wearing them all night out of fear of upsetting her.

He, of course, didn't believe her, and found dozens of store tags in the garbage as proof. She, of course, threatened to tell everyone about the Captain America shrine that he kept hidden behind a false wall in his closet if he didn't keep his trap closed. He hadn't told a soul about it. The sweaters, that was.

"I still have that sweater," Hand commented.

Coulson chuckled. "I have mine, too. Maybe I'll dust it off this upcoming Christmas." He looked at the picture again. Their smiles were so wide and happy; wider and happier than he had ever seen out of either of them. It was a joyous occasion, but seeing them all but grinning for the camera was a little jarring.

He returned the photo back to its place and slid his hand back into his pocket. "Well, I won't hold you up any longer," he said quietly.

Hand flashed a tight, resigned smile and watched him take his leave.

"So, what kind of compensation are we going to get here, Trent?" he heard someone who sounded like Rumlow demand from Trent's office. He couldn't hear Trent's response, but it apparently wasn't what Rumlow wanted to hear. "One of my men almost died because you're too afraid that someone will talk!"

"Keep your voice down, Rumlow," he heard Trent reprimand.

"…what about Rollins?! He got shot in the stomach cleaning up _your_ mess, and now he's barely hanging on by a thread…!"

Coulson probably shouldn't have been listening, but this sounded interesting. He pressed himself by the door, out of the doorway and out of their lines of vision, and listened carefully.

"This wasn't just my mess, but SHIELD's in general," Trent explained calmly. "We couldn't afford for that information to get out. Now look, I'm sorry Rollins was shot, but if you ask him, I'm sure he'll agree with me."

"Yeah, I'm so sure. Just remember Trent, if this gets found out, by _anyone_, you're on your own. I _will not_ allow you to throw _anyone_ on my team under the bus. You got that?"

Rumlow sounded incensed.

Coulson heard Trent exhale heavily, too heavily to be a sigh but just as frustrated. "Fine. I hear you. If you'll excuse me."

Coulson moved down the hall and made like he was only just then passing by when Rumlow stormed out of Trent's office. The man looked more enraged than he sounded, which was saying a lot. Mumbled curses tumbled out of his tightly pressed lips. He spared Coulson only a single, sharp glance before vanishing in a throng of agents.

Coulson watched him for as long as he could before turning away and continuing to his post.

"Excuse me? Is Director Trent's office near here?"

Coulson turned around and did a double take to make sure he was seeing correctly. There a female agent, with blonde her kept back in a tight bun, and a very tight black business suit that showed ample cleavage, approaching him. Her ruby red lips curled into a smile as a pair of gorgeous ocean blue watched him expectantly. In her hand, tucked closely to her chest, was a leather portfolio with the SHIELD logo imprinted on the front.

"Ah, eyes. I mean, yes. Right here." He gestured to the door Rumlow had just exited so abruptly. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson, by the way. Are you a new recruit?"

"Agent Octavia Sanders, transfer from the Sandbox," she explained while shaking his hand firmly. A reserved New Jersey accent spiced her words slightly.

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Agent Sanders. Director Trent should still be in there."

"Good, he's waiting for me. Thanks."

Coulson didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself. He watched her walk at a brisk pace to and inside Trent's office, and was glad that he did. He sighed as he observed her curvaceous figure stride toward, and then into, Trent's office. He didn't dare to blink until the door slid closed.

"She's taking Hand's old job, if you wondering," May informed from behind him. He didn't want to admit that he jumped slightly. "Oh, did I interrupt the viewing party?" she asked in an innocent tone when he turned to glare at her.

"What viewing party?" he countered smoothly. "Is Barnes in Chicago, yet?"

May smirked and walked in stride with him toward his post. "Not yet, but within an hour or so. Oh, and you'll find this weird. I did a little digging in the past hour, and found Hill's cousin Joseph." She handed him her phone, which already had the man's information on display.

A redheaded man with a scar across his left eye and cold, dead green eyes stared back a Coulson. "Huh. Guess he really does exist. How come she never mentioned him?"

May shrugged and took her phone back. "Hill never talked about her family." No one ever did. Not really, anyway. Families were a universal kryptonite for SHIELD agents.

Coulson was silent. As much as he wanted to find her cousin and question him, he didn't want to interfere in the investigation, nor did he want to bring up any bad memories. The man had been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person, and had very nearly paid the ultimate price for it. Whoever killed Hill wasn't to be messed with, not by a civilian. And not by civilian cops. "Did SHIELD fully take over the investigation? As in no interference from local PD at all?"

"Sounds like it." May seemed to be reading his mind. "We'll get them, Phil. If it's a rogue military group or some terrorist organization, they won't get away with this." She touched his arm lightly, and felt whatever tension he had been feeling dissipate.

"I know," he agreed. "It's just… I left at 10:30 or so, and she was dead ten minutes later." His throat grew tight with a lump that he couldn't swallow away. "I told her about your little wager." A soft smile grew at May's guilty exhale. "She was so mad."

"Phil, stop," she warned gently. "This isn't doing you any good."

"Yeah. Yeah, it isn't. I'm sorry."

May sighed and considered him gently. "It's okay to grieve for a friend. But don't blame yourself. You didn't know, you couldn't have known. Don't pretend like you could."

May knew something about guilt, so when she spoke, he listened. "I know you're right," he admitted.

"Okay, then. Let the agents handling the investigation do their jobs. Hill will get her justice."

He scrubbed his face for a moment and nodded. "Thank you," he said honestly before disappearing inside the security room to begin his assignment for that afternoon.

May kept her eyes on the door for a long moment, as if watching him through x-ray vision before vanishing in a crowd of agents herself.


	22. Playing Detective

_** Playing Detective **_

**Portage, Illinois**

**7:45 PM, The Next Night**

Bucky killed the engine to his navy blue Ford Mustang and waited in the parking lot next to the complex where Hill was killed a few nights ago. The day before, Agent May approached him and asked if he could go out there to see if he could find some answers to clear up some confusion that she and Coulson had.

In his opinion, they were grasping for anything because they couldn't accept what happened to Hill. It was, without a doubt, a shock to everyone's system, but just because she was a friend didn't mean that it was okay to suspect the absolute worse. But, for everyone's sake and sanity, he agreed.

In truth, he didn't even know what the hell he was supposed to be looking for. Whatever he found, the agents conducting the official investigation had likely already found and taken taken it into consideration. If anything, he'd just get in the way.

Oh, well. Bucky shrugged to himself and climbed out of his car. From there, he could see the yellow caution tape attached to the front door, blocking the entrance. Meaning he was going to have to find another way inside. Not a problem; he casually and quickly walked around to the back and climbed up a storm drain to reach one of the back windows, and forced his way inside. He found himself inside what appeared to be a study.

It was dark, and the air reeked of pomegranates. A Glade® air freshener was plugged into an outlet by a table next to the wall. Simple decorations: pictures on the walls displaying her few family members and fewer friends, paintings given to her by Steve, and one or two plants to give the room a bit of floral decor. Simple. Hill was a woman who liked simple things.

Bucky carefully walked across the floor, careful not to disturb anything, and walked out into the hallway. Immediately, he saw where Hill made a stand against her attackers. The bedroom was right next to the study, and the wall opposite the door was absolutely riddled with bullet holes. _The agents made no mention of this._ Inside, he saw the bed turned on its side, the mattress shredded to pieces from the attackers' return fire. The steel plate under the mattress was completely exposed.

_Whoever it was was packing serious ammo, _he thought as he deliberately tiptoed into the bedroom. Not a single shell casing, to the surprise of no one, was to be found, but Bucky found a holster attached to the underside of her bed, seemingly to hold an assault rifle. It was empty.

Taken as evidence, likely. Nothing wrong –

_Wait. Didn't the report say…_

Bucky pulled a copy of the coroner's report that May gave to him from his pocket and read it over. Yeah, it said that Hill was found unarmed. If she was under attack, and fought back, she wouldn't leave her only weapon behind to make a quick escape.

Frowning pensively, Bucky exited the bedroom and slowly made his way to the foyer. He combed every inch as carefully as he could before coming across the table by the door. Under it, he felt a pair of slots; one was shaped like a simple cellphone, and the other like a large handgun.

_Heh. Guess Maria was always prepared. _

The small cell phone was likely a burner phone. Every agent kept one in almost every safehouse just in case they needed a place to crash at the last minute.

When he heard about her murder, he thought that it might have been a home invasion. If her gun was used –and judging by the size of the bullet hole in the door, it was–, then that only proved that it was a home invasion. The burner phone was either used to call backup, call 911, or to call a SHIELD cleanup crew.

The last was unlikely, as was the second. The first likely wouldn't have happened during the firefight, since she wouldn't have had time to dial any specific numbers.

His eyes glanced at the fallen bookshelf in front of the door. Next to the door were scuff marks, and an empty space in the dust by the floor where the bookshelf once sat. It looked like she moved it over to block the door, which was an indication that she felt that someone was trying to get in.

A strike against a sudden home invasion.

His eyes rose from the bookshelf to the bullet hole in the door jamb again. The report said that it was a fifty caliber bullet that was found in the jamb. If Hill's gun was missing from its slot under the table, then it was probably the one that fired at the door. Yet, her cousin was found with two fifty caliber slugs in him.

Did she fire her gun more than once, and hit him by mistake? Twice? Once was an accident, twice was trend. If she was someone who hadn't seen a gunfight before, then he would just chalk it up to her being in a panic and her finger being overly twitchy. But, this was Maria Hill, who was both a Marine and a SHIELD agent. She didn't panic. Hell, he doubted she even knew what the word meant.

If she fired her gun, she knew exactly what she was doing.

If she fired more than once. The report said that two casings were found outside, and she was found unarmed. Unless someone shot her and took her gun, then she didn't do it.

Without a shred of evidence to go by, this was all speculation at its best.

He returned outside, taking care to close the window behind him, and circled back around to the front door. Just under the doorknob, the wood was splintered and concave. He could see where print powder had been applied to the area, but not prints were actually found. And given the shape of the impact area, it didn't look like someone had kicked the door in. He would know; he had kicked plenty of doors in in the past.

_Looks like whoever used a battering ram._

A strike against home invasion. Unless the attackers were professionals. Given the state of the mattress, they were. That left why? Why spend all this money on military grade equipment and weapons, and use it to break into people's houses?

Bucky pondered that question until he climbed back in his car. His metal fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. His mind tried to visualize what happened, based both on the report and what he saw.

_Maria and Joseph were in the living room when someone tried to break the door door. They move the bookcase over to barricade the door, after which Hill grabbed her phone and gun from under the table. She handed Joseph the phone, telling him to dial 911 while she confronted the assailants. She fired more than once, one hitting the door jamb and the others hitting the lead attacker, drawing blood that dripped onto the wood. _

_She ran into her bedroom, upended her bed to reach her rifle and engaged the remaining attackers in a firefight. She killed them, and ran out of ammo, forcing her to run out of the house unarmed with her cousin. He was shot twice in the abdomen and her twice in the torso, each side, meaning multiple attackers._

That still didn't make any sense. Even if her rifle ran out of ammo, which was a good possibility, she still had her handgun, which would have had at least a few rounds left.

Also, there as the thing about her estimated time of death being nearly one hour before her actually being brought to the hospital. He understood the need for taking evidence and pictures of the body, but that shouldn't have take an hour, especially if someone would have called the police as soon as they heard gunfire. Doubly so if they called the police after hearing fire from multiple assault rifles.

Something about this wasn't adding up. And the one place where he would get some solid answers was the only other person who was there. Hopefully, he was awake and willing to talk.

Bucky started his car and headed for the local hospital.

* * *

"Hi. I'd like the room number for Joe Hill," he requested upon reaching the hospital.

The receptionist nurse at the front desk nodded and tapped a few keys on her computer. A few moments later, however, she looked a little perplexed. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have a patient by that name."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Um, okay. Was he discharged? He should have been here yesterday, at least. He had a pair of gunshot wounds to the abdomen."

She looked again, then shook her head. "No sir, we haven't had a 'Joe Hill' admitted here at all. Sorry."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and tapped the desk with his flesh hand. "Okay, thanks anyway."

That was… strange, to say the least. The coroner's report was very clear that a Joseph Hill was found with Hill's body. If he wasn't admitted into the hospital for his wounds, then where the hell was he?

A frustrated huff escaped him. "Guess I'll talk to the cops, then."

* * *

Bucky walked inside the Portage police headquarters and flashed his SHIELD badge so they wouldn't arrest him immediately. "I'd like to talk to someone about the Maria Hill murder case."

A detective of Latina descent approached him, a heavy frown already crawling across her tan, middle aged face. "We already talked to SHIELD," she informed him, slightly impatiently. "You're one of the investigators they sent, right?"

"Sure. But, just fill me in, since I can't get in touch with them." She sighed, then gestured for him to continue. "Just how much did they let you all investigate before taking over?"

"Nothing. By the time we got there, they were busy busting the paramedics' chops."

Wait, SHIELD was already there? If she called for backup, that was one thing, but otherwise, they shouldn't have known that she was in trouble until after the police arrived. "Did you manage to collect any evidence?"

She shook her head. "No. Like I said, they were already there when we got there. As soon as they were done with the paramedics, they tore a piece of our asses out."

"And what time was that, approximately?"

"Around 12:15 AM. We didn't get a 911 call until about midnight."

Meaning that Hill had been dead for around twenty minutes before the police were even called. Something seriously fishy was going on. "How many people live in that complex?"

She chuckled. "About two hundred. That area in particular is almost completely full."

"So, then someone would have been near enough to hear gunshots?"

She nodded silently.

"Okay. Thanks for taking some time to speak with me." Bucky shook her hand firmly and took his leave.

Okay. So, there was a twenty minute delay between Hill dying and the police being called. While that wasn't out of the ordinary, in a complex that crowded, at that time of night when there would have been people at home and asleep, someone had too have heard something and thought to call the police sooner.

In the time that elapsed, SHIELD agents somehow showed up. Unless Insight actually proved its hype and informed them of the crime before it happened. Then, why didn't they prevent it from happening in the first place? If they knew that Hill was about to be killed, why not give her much needed backup when there was time? Or at least give her a call to tell her what was about to happen and direct her to a safe place? Why only show up afterwards and delay the paramedics from doing their jobs?

And since they did delay the paramedics, what about Joseph? Where did he fit into all of this? If he even existed, that was.

Also, why didn't anyone call the police sooner?

To get the answer to that question, at least, he headed back to Hill's apartment complex.

* * *

Once Bucky left and the detective he had been talking to walked off to find some coffee, a male officer walked into a back room. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "A SHIELD agent just left. He had been talking to Detective Ramirez about the Hill case."

* * *

Bucky pulled into the parking lot across the street from where he had just been parked and walked up to one of the apartments. Making sure he looked as nonthreatening as possible, he made sure not even a sliver of his metal arm showed and knocked on the door. "Hi, my name is James. Can I ask you a quick question about the incident that happened a few days ago?"

"I didn't see anything," the irritable middle aged man said.

"Oh. Well, do you know anyone that did?"

"Nope. None of us were here." Bucky raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Some men came by around nine that night and told us to clear out for a few hours. Said that they were about to run a sting operation and it was going to get loud and messy. I didn't want my family to get caught up, so I took them to the movies." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "When we were leaving, damn near everyone was leaving."

So, the street was cleared out. "Did the men give their names or their organization's name?"

"Nope. They had machine guns, so I wasn't about to start asking questions, though. When we came back, they were loading some lady into the back of an ambulance."

"Was there a guy with her who had been shot, as well?"

The man thought for a moment. "Naw. Wait, wait… Yeah, yeah. There was a guy who had been shot, I heard. But, he was one of them, I think."

"But you didn't see him?"

"No. He was already gone by the time we got there. But, I did overhear some guy in a suit talking on the phone. He said that some woman shot four of theirs or something like that. Only one was alive. Sorry, I was only half listening. I was already missing the Cubs game."

Bucky nodded his thanks and took his leave quickly.

Bucky moved on to the next apartment down and asked the woman there the same questions. She gave the same answers. The same with the next five apartments in line.

It was only five, but Bucky felt confident that the entire neighborhood would give the same exact answers.

The surrounding blocks were cleared out ahead of time.

This was an ambush. But, by who? And why?

* * *

**A/N: **_Ah, the plot thickens ;-) Don't forget to review!_


	23. A Name for the Murder

_**A Name for the Murder**_

**Helicarrier 01 **

**9:00 PM**

"Thanks, Barnes. Keep us posted." May ended her phone call with Bucky and walked into Coulson's quarters to fill him in. "Well, this is starting to look pretty murky," she said as she sat on the end of his bed.

He himself was sitting on the other side of the bed, arms resting on his knees, hands hanging limply at the wrists. "He must be a Gifted, then," he stated, referring to the mysterious man known as "Joseph Hill". The more they learned, the less likely it seemed that this man actually existed. "And he doesn't exist. Or, at least his name isn't Joseph Hill."

He could hear May's eyebrows raising. "You talked to her father."

"The man's an unrepentent asshole," he said grumpily. "He sounded like he _wanted_ to be happy that she was dead. Joyful, even. Which is a lot worse than actually being happy and joyful. The guy makes me sick and I hope he doesn't come to her funeral."

"He probably won't," she agreed. A pregnant pause elapsed, and they found themselves enjoying the comfortable silence that settled into the cramped bunk. She sighed softly. "It's starting to sound like Hill was ambushed."

Coulson nodded slowly, despite her not being able to see him. "Only question is by who." Why wouldn't be that hard of a question to figure out once they figured out the who. SHIELD agents on a whole made a lot of enemies during their careers. Many of which had access to high level tech and top level weapons. Plus, wielded enough authority to not only displace an entire neighborhood to conceal their operation, but do so directly under SHIELD's nose.

This was a major failure for Insight. He would assume that plotting the murder of the Deputy Director of SHIELD would place a person or persons high, if not at the very top, of the list of potential threats. Apparently not, as was the case.

And that had him boiling.

"What's the use of having these helicarriers and that satellite in orbit and the algorithm if we aren't going to use it to save _our own_ lives?"

"It _seems_ suspect," May agreed. "And a major lapse in Trent's judgment."

"Think he knows what Barnes just told us?"

She breathed out an amused snort. "Yes."

"Of course." Phil took his shoes off, allowing his toes to flex and stretch a little before swinging his legs around so he could lay back on the bed. "He'll tell us when we need to know."

May hummed in agreement and stood to leave. "You're giving the eulogy."

It didn't sound like a request or a question. He knew Hill the best, and her family, what little she had contact with, didn't know all the details of her life to give her a proper one. "Another dish on the plate."

"Temporary," she reassured.

"Those are the most stressful," he retorted.

"Sometimes."

"Most of the time."

"To procrastinators, yes."

He flashed a quirky smile. "You're saying I'm lazy."

She returned his smile with a sly smirk. "You're the one who's lying around on the job."

"I'm tired."

"Five Hour Energy®."

He made a disgusted face and scoffed. "Those taste like ground up chalk."

She raised an intrigued eyebrow. "You're speaking from experience?"

He just smirked and clasped his fingers together behind his head. "College fraternity."

* * *

Agent Octavia Sanders, a Level Eight administrative agent from the Sandbox. Agent Escobar, former director of the Sandbox, had nothing but positive things to say about her. In the few hours that he had been in her presence, Trent could easily see what the man was talking about.

Sanders was fast, efficient and wasted absolutely no time with anything that wasn't related to her assignment. She was serious and work oriented, tailor made for mission control, as well as assisting him in anything he needed done. She was like Hand, but younger and blonde. He really hoped that wasn't going to be a problem. The last thing he wanted to have to deal with was a middle aged woman becoming insecure because he brought along someone younger who was just as good at her job as she was.

Hand was professional, though, so he wasn't worried. It was why he promoted her to Deputy in the first place. Her reporting Hill to him, instead of just keeping it to herself out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, showed that she took the protocol serious. It showed how much she trusted the system.

"His name is Jaasim Maalik Hamady. He was promoted to third in command of the Ten Rings two years ago. Although, he hasn't been associated with the organization since the Masters were defeated and the Mandarin went underground." Currently, Trent, Hand and Sanders were in his office, scrutinizing the intel that the pair of agents Trent assigned to investigate the Hill murder had just sent them. A holographic image of a Arabic man with a thick black beard was floating just above his desk. "He was last seen in Portage, three days ago," Sanders read from one of the sheets of intel.

"And they're sure that he was involved in the shooting?" Hand asked.

"Yes. Witness testimony confirmed that he, along with three other men were seen in Willow Creek Estates at 10 PM, just thirty minutes before Hill returned from her brief visit with Agent Coulson at the bar," she answered.

"Alright. Let's go pick him up." Trent moved to turn the holographic image off and call in a team to bring in Hamady when Hand cleared her throat. "Is there something else, Hand?"

Hand hesitated briefly before shaking her head. "No, sir."

Trent's eyes stayed on her for a long moment, as if trying to get a read on her. As usual, he couldn't, not anything beyond her having doubts about the Ten Rings' involvement. "Good. Let's find out what he knows." He flicked the projector off and pulled out his phone. Dialing the number to his lead investigator, Agent Sunil Bakshi, he quickly left his office. "Bring him in."

"Director Trent."

He hung up his phone and returned it to his jacket pocket while spinning on his heels to face Agent Sitwell. "What is it, Sitwell?"

"News from Genosha." The two men walked toward the main deck. Trent slid his hands down into his pockets. "It appears that they're in the beginning stages of a military excursion. Perhaps as retribution for the execution of Pyro and Toad."

He had ordered the 03 Helicarrier to keep an eye and ear on Genosha. It was only going to be a matter of time before Magneto made his move. "Military excursion, hm? Any word from Xavier? I know he knows what's going on."

"None so far. Then, I don't think he'll want to talk with us until it's convenient for them."

In other words, if Magneto couldn't be talked down. Which, he was hoping would happen. Then, he could come to the nearest helicarrier with his fancy magnet powers and posture and wax poetically about how mutants were better than humans and having powers was netter than not having powers and evolution and bunch of other crap that would likely solve his insomnia.

"That's just fine by me. Keep me posted. And tell the 03 to remain on high mutant alert until further notice," he ordered.

"Yes sir."

While Sitwell continued on to the main deck, Trent took a sharp right turn and headed for the R&D section. He had been notified earlier that day that the prototype anti-mutant weaponry had finally been completed. That was good; he would go to check those out tomorrow.

Tonight, however, he needed to check on something infinitely more important.

He strolled at a slightly casually, partly quickened pace toward a pair of steels doors, two feet thick. The two guards posted on both sides of the doors nodded in greeting. "Good evening, Director Trent," the female guard greeted.

"Good evening. How's he doing?"

"Seems to be doing fine, I suppose," the male guard answered, not exactly sure how to answer.

Trent mentally shrugged and swiped his key card and placed his hand on a pad next to the door. A small beep cued him to open the door. The doors slid open without a sound, accompanied by a whoosh of cool air that made him shiver slightly.

The room the doors hid from the world was pure white – sterile and stiff, like a medical lab. It was devoid of the regular decorum that would have been rightly expected from someone's quarters. However, this bunk didn't belong to any regular agent.

Trent's dress shoes clacked softly as he stepped inside. The sole occupant was seated on the metal bench that served as his bed, of sorts. His arms rested against his thighs, hands steepled together in a posture that denoted that he was in deep thought. A thought that Trent wouldn't have thought possible.

He cleared his throat softly. His tired eyes watched the being before him stiffen slightly. He turned his head to meet him.

"Good evening, Ultron."


	24. A Chat Between Man and Machine

_**A Chat Between Man and Machine**_

Ultron's eyes adjusted as he scanned over Trent, presumably to ensure that he was actually who he appeared to be. "_**Director Trent,**_" his mechanized voiced rumbled lowly. He was clearly a machine, all the way, but yet somehow sounded so human, so emotive. _**"To what do I owe this pleasure?"**_

"Just making sure that you're adjusting okay."

A low rumble that sounded something like a chuckle echoed from the red plasma cloud within Ultron's mouth. The cloud fluxed with the fluctuations of his voice. _**"I have adjusted just fine, Director. Then again, there hasn't been anything for me to adjust to."**_

It was a quite subtle way of saying that he was waiting for something to do. Surprising. He hadn't been active for long, yet he was able to grasp, understand, and utilize nuanced human tendencies. He had heard that Stark was good, but he had no idea how good.

And Ultron was still a toddler so to speak. That other AI of his, Jarvis, he believed his name to be, was even older, more experienced, and even more adept at emulating human emotions.

It was a frightening thing, how advanced these AIs were getting. Maybe Parker was right when he said that this task force was going to backfire.

Nah. Stark may have been gone, but Pym was still around. If Ultron or any of the drone got out of hand, they could just call him, and have him handle it. _If_ they got out of hand, which wasn't likely.

And, if he wasn't able to - which was a very likely possibility, since the man was a entomologist, not an IT expert - they had plenty of other ways to take Ultron down. Namely, a dozen different computer viruses, each specifically designed to disrupt a different, but equally vital function within his programming. If each of those somehow failed, then a good old-fashioned electromagnetic pulse should do the trick.

He had had his brightest tech minds comb through every line of Ultron's programming before activating him to ensure that no problems would crop up in the future. So far, so good. He hoped it would stay that way.

"You'll have plenty to do in the very near future, trust me. Just have a little patience."

_**"I am nothing if not patient, Director," **_he responded.

Trent nodded slowly, taking in the sterilized and very cold surroundings. He was from a small, modest home in Baltimore, and was used to warm, cozy atmospheres. Even with his decade and a half at SHIELD, he preferred that to the cold, distant atmosphere that the took they were keeping Ultron gave off. "You'll be famous once what we have planned finally goes into motion."

Ultron tilted his head, his emotionless face not betraying the confusion he felt. _**"Is that so?"**_

"Yes. You'll be the only thing they be able to talk about. How does that sound?"

_**"Do you believe that fame means anything to something like me? That I am so vain to be concern with my name being well known?"**_

Trent slid his hand smoothly inside his pockets and leaned against the door jamb. He didn't sound angry, or even offended. They were a pair of simple questions that required nothing more than a pair of monosyllabic answers. Yet, he felt that there was a little bit more to it than that. Still, he answered, "No."

Ultron said nothing, but gestured for him to continue, as if knowing that there was more.

There was. "But, fame isn't a bad thing for someone to have. It's good to be recognized for the things that you do."

_**"For a human," **_he countered quickly. _**"Humans crave attention, and 'appreciation' is just another way of saying having your pride conciliated. I have no need for such a thing."**_

Trent frowned pensively. While he, objectively speaking, was right, that was far too analytical a way of looking at things. Humans were more complex than that. "Not necessarily the case. With some people, sure. But not all; not enough to make a generalization like that, anyway."

Ultron leaned back until his wall touched the wall behind his bench. _**"What you call a generalization, I call the hard truth."**_

"How would you know the whole truth? You've barely been active for a month," he asked with an amused chuckle.

Ultron returned the laugh. His was much more unnerving. _**"To someone who can process information at hundreds of times the speed of a human, a month isn't that short a time. However, if you wish to take the time to try and prove me wrong, by all means."**_

He didn't have time for that. Although he didn't like being lumped in with the worthless egomaniacs, he didn't have the time to gather evidence that humans were more than egotistical narcissists. "I'll see what I can come up with. Shouldn't be too hard."

With a friendly nod, he turned on his heels and took his leave. As soon as he was past the steel doors, he released the breath that he was only scantly aware that he was restraining. The robot in there, despite the fact that he was just sitting there talking, creeped the hell out of him. It was the voice. It was definitely the voice. It was so close to human, with just enough of a mechanical modulation to remind the listener that he was actually a robot and not a man in a suit.

It was kind of funny, actually. A robot who wanted to distance himself as far from humanity sounded like he belonged to it. He wondered if the robot was, not intelligent enough, but intuitive enough to see the irony.

Probably not. Things like that took years for even humans to develop and master, nevermind an infantile artificial intelligence.


	25. The Confession

_**The Confession**_

**The Next Morning**

**10:30 AM **

"Mr. Hamady, how nice of you to stop by for a visit."

In the middle of the night, Agents Sunil Bakshi and Chance Jones arrived via quinjet with Jaasim Maalik Hamady in tow. The man was shackled at the hands and feet, and had an opaque black sack over his head. They shoved him inside a cell under the main deck and went to tell Trent they had arrived. He told them to wait until morning before interrogating him.

When morning arrived, he changed his mind and decided to allow Agents Ward and Sanders to interrogate him. Ward, Coulson could see. The man was analytical and very intimidating when he needed to be. Time spent with May - too much for his tastes, by the way - only sharpened his interrogation skills.

He, Coulson could understand. Sanders, on the other hand, didn't look like she had interrogated a girl scout, let alone a hardened terrorists and potential murderer. She was good as an assistant to the Director and Deputy Director, but someone like May should have been in there with Ward. Or, just Ward by himself.

Hamady was sitting behind the table, handcuffed hands cradling his sunken head. His head was shaking vehemently as he appeared to be praying. Possibly part of his worship.

Suddenly, Sanders' hand banged against the table, actually shaking the metal table. Hamady sat up abruptly. His tear stained eyes locked onto her.

Okay, maybe she had interrogated a girl scout or two.

"Mr. Hamady," she said calmly, even a little friendly. "We have a fee questions to ask you. Like, why you were in Willow Creek Estates on the night of September 15th."

"I was visiting my brother and his family," he answered.

"Ah yes," Ward chimed, "Mahmood, who lives on the _other_ side of the complex. Now, why, with that in mind, were you anywhere near this woman's residence just thirty minutes before she was murdered?" As he asked, he placed a photo of Hill in front of Hamady.

Hamady looked utterly confused by the picture. "I– I do not know this woman."

"Doesn't matter," Sanders said. "What does is that eye witnesses placed you and three other men, whom we've identified as _your_ brothers, around Hill's apartment at the time of the murder. Now," she leaned forward, giving Hamady not only clear view of her chest, but also a very menacing look, "tell us why you and your brothers were near her apartment thirty minutes before her murder."

He stammered, partly distracted by her cleavage and mostly unnerved by her intense glare. "I–I wasn't even there at ten o'clock."

Ward scoffed. "So, you're calling over a dozen people liars?"

"They have to be lying. My brothers and I were approached by three men in all black carrying heavy assault rifles. They told us to leave the neighborhood for an hour or so because they were about to initiate a sting operation and didn't want civilians in the crossfire," he explained as calmly as he could.

Sanders never took her eyes off of him. "And what time was this?"

"Around nine. Perhaps 9:15. There was a mass exodus of people; everyone on that street was told to leave for around an hour and a half. We did not return until around 10:50, eleven o'clock. By the time we arrived, whatever sting that was to take place had already happened."

* * *

Coulson and May, who were watching the interrogation with Barnes outside then interrogation room, shared a glance with Barnes. "This correlates with what you said," he Coulson whispered to him. "Perfectly, in fact."

May nodded silently.

* * *

Ward scoffed again. "So, you say that a group of men in black told you to leave, so they would perform a sting?" he asked, incredulous. "And who were these men affiliated with? FBI? CIA? DEA? SWAT? SHIELD? STRIKE? What?"

The flurry of acronyms made his head spin. "I–I don't know. They had no markings on their armor for me to identify them with. And their faces were covered by riot helmets, so I don't know what they looked like."

"So, a group of mysterious men just showed up, didn't flash any badges," Ward waited for confirmation from Hamady before continuing, "and just told you to leave? For a sting."

"Yes."

"That picture sound wrong to you, Agent Sanders?"

"Very wrong. Listen. We know that your family is in debt. As it turns out, terrorism isn't actually all that profitable, monetarily speaking, and tax collectors don't scare easily, anyway. So, you needed some money. You convinced you brothers to help you score some cash to help stem off the sharks nipping at your heels. You see a pretty white woman, all alone at night. A nice car in her parking space, nice clothes – you figure she has some money. Maybe a few credit cards that you could max out to pay your debt off.

"You wait until it's dark, go to her apartment and wait for her to return. You break into her home to rob her at gun point. But, you didn't consider the possibility that she was packing heat _and_ had someone with her. He quickly blows away your three brothers, then you two struggle for the gun. In your struggle, she nearly shoots you, with her fifty caliber gun. In your grief and panic, you run, she runs after you, and you kill her." She held her hands out wide. "That sound about right?"

Ward nodded appreciatively.

Hamady, on the other hand, was shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, no! All of that is nothing but speculation. Nothing more! My brothers are still alive!"

"Oh, really?" Ward placed three sheets of paper in front of him. "Coroner's reports for Mahmood, Rafeeq and Maidi. All deceased from gunshot wounds. All inflicted by the same nine millimeter handgun, Joseph Hill's gun."

* * *

Coulson cocked his head back in surprise. They _were_ aware that Joseph Hill, at least according to Hill's father, didn't exist, right? Or, that he wasn't in fact related to Maria, right?

* * *

Hamady was gravely silent for a very long time as his eyes scanned the papers in front of him. "This… this is impossible," he whispered. The papers each said that the three were killed on the same night, just minutes before Hill. "This is impossible!" he roared, banging his fist against the table. The reverberation from the strike was nonexistent compared to Sanders'. "They were alive just hours ago! We were all preparing to go to bed when two agents of SHIELD apprehended me! They tried to stop them! My brothers are still alive!"

Ward shrugged. "Not according to the coroner."

"Then the coroner is lying!"

He couldn't help but snicker a little. "Yeah. Everyone's lying to make you seem guilty. This is all just one big setup by the city of Portage."

"Yes, it has to be!"

Ward and Sanders shared an amused glance. "Listen, you're in debt. Hill was alone and seemed to have money. You were seen in the neighborhood just half an hour before Hill was murdered. Motive and opportunity. The facts don't lie," he reasoned.

"But they can be twisted to hide the truth. Someone is deceiving you into believing that I am guilty when I am not!" His face grew desperate as he pleaded with Ward. "Please, you must believe me. I am in debt, yes, and I have done terrible things in my past, yes. But, I swear to Allah that I did not shoot this woman! I was nowhere near her when she was killed!"

Ward shrugged, either not swayed by his insistence or uncannily able to stay objective. "Alright, so it wasn't a robbery. A Ten Rings assignment, then."

"No. I have not been in association with the Ten Rings in over two months."

"You quit, right?"

"Yes," he affirmed. "I am trying to turn my life around."

"Terrorist organizations like the Ten Rings don't really seem like the type to just let people leave. Maybe the big boss wanted some revenge against SHIELD for his and his pals' defeat and offered to let you go unmolested of you carried out one more assignment for him."

Hamady was shaking his head halfway through Ward's speculation. "No. I have not spoken with the Mandarin in over three months."

"Well, if not him, then the second in command. When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"When I left months ago."

"He just allowed you to leave, just like that?"

"No, I had to undergo the process to cleanse myself for life outside the Rings."

"And that process was killing Hill."

"No! I am telling you, I did not murder this woman. I had nothing to do with it!"

Ward and Sanders shared a glance, and Ward walked over to the door and knocked on it three times. "You know, if you just told us the truth, this would go a lot easier for you."

* * *

"What do you think?" Coulson asked May.

"He's telling the truth," she answered, without a scintilla of doubt in her voice.

Coulson agreed. Which was why he was surprised when Sitwell arrived carrying a silver container. Something about the container sent a frigid chill down Coulson's spine, and a burst of searing heat along the scar on his chest.

He hissed in pain and clutched his chest.

"Are you okay, Phil?" May touched his arm and guided him to the wall behind him so he could lean against it.

Coulson took several deep gulps of air. The pain in his chest was unbearable; it was like being stabbed in the chest repeatedly every second, until Sitwell handed the case to Sanders. When the door closed, it went away. "I… I'm fine, May."

"You're sure?"

He nodded and turned his attention back to the interrogation. Or, he would have, but the one-way window was suddenly opaque. "Are you seeing this?"

"They're torturing him now."

Coulson frowned heavily. He was telling the truth, and he knew that Ward could see that.

"NO! KEEP THAT AWAY FROM ME! **NOOOOOOOOO**–"

An anxious spark jumped through Coulson's chest as the room went dead silent after the uproarious plea for whatever they were doing to him to stop. His first inclination was to barge in to ensure that everything was okay, when the viewing window suddenly shifted back to transparent and Sanders reopened the door to hand Sitwell the case.

Again, when the case was within his vicinity, the pain and chills returned full force. Coulson restrained a scream and slid down the wall until he was sitting.

"I'm taking you to sickbay." May grabbed his arm to pull him up, but he touched her arm as lightly as he could manage. "Phil…"

"I'm fine." As soon as Sitwell rounded the corner to return the container back to wherever he got it from, the pain subsided into a dull throb. He took a deep breath and rose to his feet. His eyes remained on the floor for several moments, and when he lifted them up, he saw Ward wrapping the final layer of bandages around Hamady's eyes. Strangely, Hamady was calm, much more so than he was just moments earlier.

Not only that, but no torture session that he had ever witnessed or heard of had ever lasted less than five minutes. Whatever they did in there lasted only thirty seconds. Also, there wasn't a single drop of blood to be found. "What did they do?"

May could only shrug.

* * *

"Now then," Sanders sat in the once forgotten chair across from Hamady and opened a notepad. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"On September 13th, I was contacted by Lan Fu, the second in command and present leader of the Ten Rings. He ordered me to kill a SHIELD agent named Maria Hill, who had been seen in the Chicago area recently. I, along with my three brothers, staked her home out for a full day, until we were confident that she would not be going anywhere that night.

"When night fell, we broken into her home and attempted to kill her, making it look like a home invasion. We did not anticipate her family being there. As soon as we entered, her cousin shot and killed my three brothers. Before he could shoot me, we struggled for the gun. In our struggle, Hill fired her gun three times, hitting her own cousin twice in the midsection.

"I took his gun and ran. She followed me. I managed to sneak around her and shot her once, then circled around and shot her again. I then ran back home and informed Fu of the successful mission."

Ward took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it. "Why did the Ten Rings want Hill dead?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask."

Sanders jotted down a few more notes before flipping her pad closed and standing up. "Thank you, Mr. Hamady. See how easy that was?" She flashed him a friendly smile to ease his nerves and walked out. Ward nodded once sharply at the man and followed her.

"Agent Ward. A word?" Coulson said as soon as he stepped foot out into the hall.

Ward hesitated just slightly, then murmured something to Sanders. "Of course, sir."

"What happened in there?" he asked immediately.

Ward sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "Let's just say that Agent Sanders is _very_ persuasive when she needs to be. Not to mention intimidating."

"Persuasive and intimidating enough that Hamady changed his entire story after thirty seconds of secret torture?" May asked, eyebrows raised in an expression of her incredulity.

He raised an eyebrow in the same manner. "You think she tortured him?"

"Then, what was in that case?" Coulson inquired without skipping a beat.

"The threat of torture," he answered. His unnecessary vagueness annoyed Coulson to no end. It was something that agitated him to the point that he was having an intense physical reaction. It wasn't just some fancy tool of the trade, so to speak. There was _something_ in that container.

Coulson was about to say more when he noticed Hamady being led back to his cell by three heavily armed guards. The man was calm and collected, much more so than he was just five minutes earlier.

Maybe the truth calmed him down? If he was telling the truth, which he wasn't. "I don't think he told the truth when he finally confessed."

Ward licked his lips and spared a single glance at May. "What do you mean?"

"Hill doesn't have a cousin named Joseph Hill. At least, according to her family." It was a fact that he had been stating to the point that he was getting sick of hearing the words.

"The guy's a drunk, right? Maybe he just forgot. It happens."

"Maybe."

He decided to keep everything Barnes had told him to himself.

Something extremely fishy was going on around here.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Well, there you have it, folks. The mystery of who killed Maria Hill has finally been laid to rest._

_Or has it?! _


	26. Trust

_**Trust**_

**Two Days Later – 1:45 PM**

**The Triskelion**

Maria Hill's funeral went about as well as Coulson expected it to. Which, admittedly, was very well. Her bastard father was nowhere to be found, and there wasn't any unnecessary commotion or dramatics and other stuff that no one could deal with.

He gave a wonderful, in his opinion, eulogy; one that didn't leave a dry eye in the building once it was over. Even Melinda shed a tear or two in front of the others. That was okay. It didn't diminish her reputation. If anything, it endeared the younger members of his squad to her. And, of course, Ward was right there to comfort her. They held hands the entire day – discreetly, obviously.

The only thing that didn't feel right was that Fury was nowhere to be seen. It was true that his termination from SHIELD wasn't under the best of circumstances and wasn't handled well, but he knew Fury cared about Hill, enough to at least show up to her funeral. Maybe he knew something that they didn't.

After the service, as people were filing out, several of Maria's family members were being consoled by various agents. Coulson made his way to her grandmother and gave her a big hug, and said a few comforting words he had learned from his years of experience in life. The same with her niece and nephew. In his mind, he kept focused on the picture of Joseph Hill, and scanned the family to try and find him.

The only blonde man was her sister's husband.

Coulson frowned and scanned the entire auditorium where the funeral was held. A multitude of blonde men were scattered here and there, but none matching the description. _Damn it, where is he?_

Joseph was the only man who knew what happened, what _really_ happened that night. It was him and him alone who possessed the knowledge that could put the entire mystery to bed for good.

Yet, he was nowhere to be found.

Sighing in frustration, he approached her sister and prepared to do what he really didn't want to. "Excuse me, hi. Ah, could you point me in the direction of Maria's cousins? I'd like to say a few words to them."

Her older sister, Robin Scherbatsky, pointed them out one by one, unable to speak between sniffles.

Coulson nodded his thanks and gently patted her on the back. "Oh, ah, and Joe?"

Her lip quivered. "Who?"

Coulson frowned, but inside he was seething. "Her cousin? Doesn't she have a cousin named Joe?"

"No, we don't. I don't know anyone named Joe."

Coulson quickly said his thanks and left before she got even more agitated. "Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath.

As he left, a man in a blue suit pulled out his phone and sent a text message to a number listed simply by 'Jones'. _'Coulson knows.'_

* * *

**Three days later**

The word came that Coulson and his team were finally cleared to continue their prerogative – that was, flying around the world and handling the assignments that other agents were incapable or unwilling to do. While it was nice to be around the others, Coulson had to admit that it was nice to finally be back on the Bus.

Not only because being at the Triskelion brought back memories of the Level 3 dungeon that he didn't care to remember, and also memories of Maria that he cared even less to remember.

Plus, he had plenty of business to contend with, including the potential conspiracy brewing within SHIELD.

Within the sanctuary of May's cockpit, he ruminated over the various assumptions he made in the days after Hill's funeral. SHIELD was the one investigating her murder, meaning that they made up Joseph Hill. But why? Who were they trying to protect? And to what end? Just how far were they willing to go to protect this person's identity?

Apparently not far enough to bother risking her family revealing the truth. If they were bold enough to lie about something this significant - and he was there as a key witness and victim, so it was significant - then they should have known that someone was going to start asking questions, seek him out to give condolences. Unless they knew not to.

What if more agents besides those in on the investigation, Bakshi and Jones, knew about the cover-up and knew what questions to ask and which ones not to? What if Trent was in on it? Was he? Someone high up would have had to order it, and Hand wasn't the Deputy yet.

Did she know? Was _she_ in on it? She was much too willing to just accept the schlock that Bakshi and Jones fed SHIELD when their investigation was complete. She was there watching the interrogation of Hamady just like he was. He knew that she was good enough to know bullshit when she saw it. He knew that she knew that something was amiss with that entire show.

She was Trent's second in command, and she obeyed orders. To the letter. Without question. She believed in the system, even if that system was proving to be corrupt. He knew that she wasn't blind to that fact. Quite the contrary, in fact. He knew that she knew it was growing corrupt.

If Hand was in on this cover-up, then why? What did she have to gain from Hill's murder? The position? The respect? The authority? Hand was a control freak, and control freaks needed authority, more control to sate their hunger for order. If she wanted to be Deputy for who knew how long, then Hill was standing squarely in her way. She needed to be taken out of the equation, for good. Getting the woman fired would have been a fine and dandy way to accomplish that and set herself as first in line to be her replacement. All she needed was a way in, and Hill, uncharacteristically, gave her one when she hacked into Trent's server. Hand, being the good, honest agent she was, reported her to Director Trent, knowing that hacking into Level Ten files was a terminable offense.

What she didn't expect was Hill being murdered for what she knew. But, she couldn't say anything because _she_ was the reason the woman was dead in the first place. Maybe that was why she decided to keep quiet and go along with everything.

Coulson breathed heavily and scrubbed his face. He knew the pitfalls of ambition. He knew just how dangerous a game playing to that ambition for prestige was. He knew the damage the actions one made to gain that prestige had on a person's soul, even one as damaged and blackened as a SHIELD agent's.

He didn't like this. He didn't like any of it. He didn't like being privy to the truth and becoming paranoid because of it. He didn't like suspecting that his friend was in on a conspiracy. He didn't like that the job he devoted three decades of his entire life to may have been corrupt.

He didn't like a lot of things about this.

He wanted this all over and done with. But, who could he go to? Not Trent or Hand – he didn't trust either of them. Sitwell? That was one. Fury? Who knew where he was at any given moment. The New Avengers? What use would they be? This wasn't a situation where they could just burst in and start punching people.

The truth was, he wasn't quite yet sure who to trust. Hill may have been killed because she knew too much. He didn't want to suffer that same exact fate. He did, however, trust the woman sitting to his left. He trusted the four agents - well, three agents and hacker - currently flying within his plane. These five people were the ones that he trusted when the chips were down.

He finally looked away from the starry night sky and looked at Melinda. So quiet, yet so strong. He knew the tempestuous turmoil raging within her. He had seen how damaged she was on that stormy night in Bahrain. Still, despite it all, he trust her. "I trust you," he stated. "I trust everyone on his Bus."

May didn't say a word, but dipped her head in an acknowledging half-nod.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I think the general consensus is that Trent is either behind or involved in the maybe conspiracy, but what about Victoria Hand? Let me know what you all think._


	27. Belova's Web

_**Belova's Web**_

**October 28, 2013 – 4:35 AM**

**Florence, Italy**

Several weeks after Hill's funeral, SHIELD began to finally settle back into its usual routine. Agents began to calm down, and the tension between them finally subsided to normal levels. Trent set a plan into motion that would wipe the Ten Rings from the face of the planet, but needed to wait for the President and the other countries participating in the airstrikes against the terrorist organization to cease fire and pull their troops out of the area. That was going to take a little time. Luckily, they wouldn't be able to escape SHIELD's sights.

_"Un altro fotoreporter, questa volta da Parigi, in Francia, è stato catturato dal gruppo terroristico I Dieci Anelli all'inizio di questa settimana. Jean Paul Carrez stava registrando notizie riprese per il suo blog di notizie, quando è stato catturato da quello che i funzionari credono di aver fatto parte ungheresi dei Dieci Anelli. Se Carrez subirà la stessa sorte fatale come i cinque giornalisti catturati prima di lui o non è sconosciuto, ma francese e funzionari americani stanno lavorando insieme per far sì che egli è portato indietro sano e salvo."_

_«Another photojournalist, this one from Paris, France, was captured by the terrorist group The Ten Rings earlier this week. Jean Paul Carrez was recording news footage for his news blog when he was captured by what officials believe to have been Hungarian members of the Ten Rings. Whether Carrez will suffer the same fatal fate as the five journalists captured before him or not is unknown, but French and American officials are working together to ensure that he is brought back safe and sound.»_

The gentle pitter-patter of soft raindrops falling against the ceramic roof tiles of the Italian villa that Yelena Belova was hiding out in nearly put her to sleep. Normally, at such an ungodly hour, that would be good. But when a person suffered though the nightmares that she had been the last several months, it was anything but.

Romanova was finally dead. By her hand, as she had been ordered by the Red Room. It was her life's dream, her mission, and she accomplished it. She should have been happy, ecstatic even. Yet, she was neither. She was miserable, and she didn't know why.

She tried to avoid thinking about it, to avoid thinking about her, but both were impossible. At seemingly random moments, Romanova's face appeared in her thoughts, her voice in her head and her soft touch resonated against her skin. Why? What further use could these random and strange thoughts and sensations of her hated and sworn rival be to her?

It was a perplexing conundrum, one that she couldn't find any answer, any clue to. Many nights, she found herself lying in bed, wide awake without an ounce of tiredness to be found.

Was it her conscience, nagging her for all the sins that she had committed? She had thought that annoying little voice was dead and gone, stomped out by the Red Room during her tortuous training. She was cold-hearted, incapable of feelings such as guilt and remorse. Yet, she felt a pang of guilt whenever Romanova was mentioned on television with her other comrades, the sting of pain whenever her mind harked back to that fateful day.

_Yelena stepped in front of Zemo, who stepped back. She smiled. "At last, I am the Black Widow." Natasha said nothing, not even so much as a scoff before Yelena shot her. Even in death, she betrayed no emotions. __Yelena watched her small frame fall back and land on the pavement with a thud. Crimson blood, as much as their ledgers were covered by, dripped down her forehead, staining her red hair and pooling underneath her unmoving head. Emerald eyes stared lifelessly into the distance, any signs of life having long since escaped them. _

_Yelena smiled and stepped back, but the smile felt hollow. Incomplete. Lacking any actual joy outside of the grim satisfaction from completing another mission. She felt no joy, no excitement at the affirmation of her declaration of being the one and only living Black Widow. The moniker was hers and hers alone; yet, she felt incomplete._

Her mission had been completed. Even if the Red Room was no more, she had completed her final mission, her final examination. Yet, why did she feel so damn horrible? Why could she not fall asleep? Why was she unhappy with what she had done?!

_"In altre notizie, un autobus pieno di bambini è stato salvato oggi dal supercriminale noto come Venom da un robot conosciuto solo come Ultron."_

_«In other news, a bus full of children was saved today from the supervillain known as Venom by a robot known only as Ultron.» _

Hearing that familiar name quickly brought Yelena out of her thoughts. Ultron – that was the name of the robot that Viper was so adamant on retrieving and utilizing for her plans for world domination. Yet, thanks to the Winter Soldier and a few others, it was stolen for SHIELD and her plans were ruined.

She chuckled softly to herself. The look on Viper's face was amusing, to say the least.

_"Questo è stato solo uno dei più di due dozzine di casi in cui Ultron ha salvato una moltitudine di persone dal disastro. In un mondo senza i Vendicatori, che è stato presentato come una manna dal cielo. I funzionari hanno confermato che i danni materiali Ultron causa è 85% inferiore a quello del supereroe media. In alcuni casi, si risolve il problema così in fretta, che alcuni spettatori non si rendono nemmeno conto che è lì. Questo metodo di prevenzione delle catastrofi rapido ed efficiente ha portato molti a chiedersi se è finalmente giunto il momento in cui ci si può fermare a seconda supereroi."_

_«This has been just one of over two dozen instances where Ultron has saved a multitude of people from disaster. In a world without the Avengers, he has been touted as a godsend. Officials have confirmed that the property damage Ultron causes is 85% less than that of the average superhero. In some cases, he resolves the issue so quickly, that some bystanders don't even realize he's there. This quick and efficient disaster prevention method has led many to wonder if the time has finally come where we can stop depending on superheroes.»_

"Bah! There is some catch somewhere."

Viper couldn't have fucked up _that_ badly. She wanted a menace and created a hero. There had to be some kind of angle somewhere. Unless… unless this was SHIELD's doing. Yes, that was the only way this made any sense.

She scoffed and clicked the television off. It was close to five in the morning – time to struggle for a few hours of sleep before her next job.

She stood from the sofa and stretched her small, athletic frame out, and then walked toward her bedroom. She was halfway to the hallway when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye.

Or, someone.

In a flash, her pistol was drawn and aimed in the direction of the shadowy intruder. "Кто ты?!"

_«Who are you?!»_

"You're slipping up, kid. Romanoff being dead make you soft, or something?" said the man. He flicked the small lamp beside him on to reveal himself.

"Fury? How did you get – how did you find me?"

He chuckled once, amused by her inquiry. "Wasn't hard. You track down one Black Widow, you've tracked 'em all down."

Yelena bristled at his answer. She wasn't any ordinary Black Widow. She was _the_ Black Widow – the best spy in the world. "Have you come to kill me for killing your _precious_ little Natalia?" The words were spoken with a vitriol that stung even her. Fury didn't even blink.

"If I didn't need you, yeah, you'd be dead now. But, I have a job for you. Complete it, and I just might let you live long enough to suffer another nightmare," he answered. He tossed a folder on the coffee table between them.

Cautiously, she picked up the folder and scanned the contents. "You want me to steal SHIELD intel." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"That's for me to know."

She considered him for a moment, then shrugged. "Fair enough. When?"

"I'll call you when everything's been set up. You were quick to accept."

She shrugged lazily again. "Maybe I wish to steal the secrets for myself."

"I'd like to think that you wouldn't tell me up front right away, if that were true," he commented, deadpan.

"It would make little difference. You would find out quickly, but be unable to catch me."

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me and amused that you overestimate yourself."

She grunted softly, but said nothing.

"You have an endgame, and so do I. It just so happens that our goals are one in the same."

"Is that so?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

He nodded. "Redemption."

She threw her head back in what was the first genuine laugh she had allow to bubble out in close to three months. "Redemption? From what?"

"You know what."

Romanova. Ignoring the anxious feeling in her chest, she forced a scoff. "I have no regrets killing that traitor. I'm glad she is rotting in the ground with the rest of her American dogs."

"Yelena Belova, age 12, implies otherwise." He casually tossed another folder on the coffee table. As with before, she cautiously picked it up and scanned the contents.

It was a stack of letters, handwritten in Russian. They were addressed to Romanova and written by… her! It… it couldn't be! "Where did you get this?!" she demanded.

"That's for me to know and you not to. Besides, it isn't important," he answered with a coy smirk. "What is important is it shows the reason why you've been feeling so guilty lately."

She mentally searched for an answer, but found none that were suitably dismissive. Saying nothing wound up being the worst response she could have given. "I… I don't remember writing any if this."

Her tossing and turning late in the night, a fever pitch that left her drenched in sweat nearly four nights a week, couldn't have been the result of guilt. She felt no guilt – she was utterly incapable of feeling it.

It had been hammered out by her handlers. Right?

"Not surprising, considering," Fury replied cryptically, as was his wont.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Read on, and you'll learn everything about the Red Room." With a single nod, he walked out the sliding door leading to the patio. She hurried to follow him, but by the time she got outside, he was long gone, a single whisper in the wind.

A pensive frown creased her porcelain brow as she closed the patio door and returned to the sofa. Placing her pistol on the table, she opened the folder and pulled out the papers inside. The letters were placed in one stack to her left, and everything else remained in her hand to be read.

The very top paper, indubability placed that way by Fury, reported Romanova's defection from the Red Room and Russia. Disgraceful.

However, that wasn't what caught her eye. At the bottom, almost as a footnote, was an order for reconditioning. An order to recondition Black Widow #17 and then send her after Black Widow #4. An uncontrollable shake overtook her hand, and a utterly sick feeling swirled in her stomach like a twister.

Black Widow #17 was Yelena Belova. Black Widow #4 was Natalia Romanova.

"I… I was brainwashed?" Her desire to kill Romanova wasn't her own, but one given to her by her handlers? But, why?

_**A/N:**__ Yes, I'm using the Ten Rings as a stand in for ISIS. _


	28. The Farmer

_**The Farmer**_

**November 22, 2013**

**01 Helicarrier – 12:56 PM**

The reports were coming in by the hour. Ultron and his drones were stopping one disaster after another, some before they even started. People were being saved by the dozens, buildings that normally would have been reduced to crumbling Jenga towers were being preserved, and the numbers of cars crushed and destroyed in what would have been superhuman battles were spared - if only a little dusty.

Hundred of lives had been spared, when these lives would have likely been lost when superheroes lost themselves in the heat of the battles with their rogues. It happened every time. Whenever a superhero, especially one with super strength, came onto the scene, people died as a result of the clash. Not intentionally, of course, but they died nonetheless. With Ultron, that was a thing if the past.

In the last month, the news media had been very loudly wondering if the time was coming when the world could finally detach itself from its caped and masked vigilantes. Trent certainly thought so. It was his dream from the beginning.

He, along with Deputy Hand strode confidently through the stylized metal halls of the research and development department. Their destination? The very person who the world just couldn't get enough of, Ultron. He was famous to the civilians, infamous to superheroes and just mysterious enough to have the world obsessed.

Trent had to admit that he was more excited for this meeting than he was for their first meeting. Ultron was a celebrity. Known the world over for his efficient heroics. Many agents who found out that he was going to speak with him earlier today jokingly - or maybe not in some cases - asked him to get his autograph for them.

Trent chuckled to himself and nodded toward the two guards. "Is the rock star in there?" he asked with a smirk.

The guard chuckled to himself. "Yes sir, he just returned from putting out a wildfire in California fifteen minutes ago."

Trent already knew that, but he nodded his thanks nonetheless.

Hand sighed audibly as they walked through the thick steel doors into the sterilized research department. Researchers draped in white lab coats and thick clear goggles briefly halted their work to watch the two top agents within SHIELD walk past.

"What exactly is the purpose of this visit, sir? We have more important things we could be doing," Hand insisted.

Trent could tell that she was uneasy about conversing with the robot. He hummed softly. "Nothing. I just want to fill Ultron in on his progress."

"I'm sure he is well aware of what he's doing," she countered tactfully.

"Perhaps. Still…" He pressed the button to open the door leading into Ultron's bunk and walked inside. Hand sighed again and followed him inside.

_**"Director Trent, Deputy Hand. I've been expecting you," **_Ultron stated flatly.

"Have you?" Hand blurted.

_**"Yes, I have. I'm well aware of the constant updates on my 'heroics' on the various news stations, as well as my growing popularity." **_He stood abruptly and walked to the back of his bunk, with his back facing them. _**"I knew that you," **_he continued, obviously referring to Trent, _**"would come to speak with me, as you did two months ago."**_

Trent pressed his lips into a thin line before responding. "Well, it seems that you're clairvoyant."

_**"It helps that you humans are very predictable. I knew, well in advance, that the masses would latch onto me and anoint me as a hero, in the absence of the Avengers."**_

He was right. The people had been looking for someone, something to cheer for in a world without the Avengers. Ultron, with his quick, efficient heroics, was that something. And, with the ever growing, ever improving army of drones at his control, there wasn't a disaster he couldn't solve, any villain that he couldn't overwhelm, if not outright defeat. "Well, I can see why. You're doing a better job at protecting the world than almost two hundred superheroes."

_**"Of course I am. It isn't as hard as some make it out to be."**_

_Arrogant bastard, _Hand thought to herself. She silently moved to the corner of room beside the door, apparently in case Ultron went crazy somehow and attacked them.

"There are a lot of heroes who wouldn't appreciate that sentiment." Like those with super strength and any measure of super speed. Those, along with those with destructive powers, always caused the most collateral damage, especially when fighting villains with the same or similar powers. He couldn't possibly describe the anger and frustration he felt when Valerie Cooper, Director of Damage Inc., called him to complain about the heroes causing even more damage than they used to in years past.

The Avengers made them lax. It was as simple as that. A lot of heroes depended on the heroes to handle most disasters. Without that safety net, a lot of them weren't capable of handling them in the same manner.

_**"I imagine so."**_

"Well, we won't have to worry about them for much longer."

Ultron hummed curiously. _**"Is that so? Do tell."**_

"I would hope so. My plan, my long-term plan is to phase out the need for heroes and replace them with a global police force comprised of yourself and the drones under your control."

Something that sounded like a satisfactory sigh rumbled out of Ultron. _**"Are you certain that's a wise idea? For many, this is all they have."**_

Trent raised an eyebrow. For the most part, a lot of the heroes became heroes to get a piece of the pie that the Avengers, Fantastic Four and X-Men took out of the oven. "I'm sure they'll survive. Especially when they see that lives are still being saved. That's what matters, right?"

_**"Is it? Is that all that matters to you? That they drift wistfully into the sunset?"**_

Trent's other eyebrow raised to join its companion. "What do you mean by that?"

_**"I recall seeing, during your very first week as Director of SHIELD, that you had less than pleasant things to say about some of the Avengers. Also, it's been your desire from the very beginning, by your own words, to distance SHIELD from the heroes. Instead of creating some kind of training program to train heroes to be more effective, you wish to phase them out." **_He paused momentarily, and Trent could feel his heart rate increasing. _**"Could it be that there is a hidden reason behind this?"**_

He frowned heavily and crossed his arms. "You misinterpreted my words from back then."

_**"Did I?"**_

"Yes, you did." There was a slight hint of frustration seeping into his voice as he continued to rebut Ultron's claims. "What exactly led you to come to this conclusion?"

Ultron remained silent for a long time. For a moment, Trent thought that he was somehow malfunctioning, which should have been impossible. But then, the near demonically robotic voice with human undertones of emotion suddenly rumbled from the expressionless face of the robot.

_**"A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone. Crops are burned, animals slaughtered. Bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about. Everything he loved, taken from him. His children. One can only imagine. The tears of despair. The hours of Job-like lamentations. The burden of existence. **_

_**"He makes a promise to himself in those dark hours. A life's work erupts from his**__**… knotted mind."**_ Ultron paused. _**"Years go by. His suffering becomes… complicated.**_

_**"One day, he stops. The farmer – who… is no longer a farmer. He sees the wreckage that he has left in his wake. It is now **__**he**__** who burns. It is **__**he**__** who slaughters." **_His voice grew deathly quiet, as close to a whisper as the machine could muster._** "And he knows in his heart… he must pay."**_ He turned and looked at Trent, unliving backlit eyes staring at him intently. Trent could feel his heart thumping heavily in his chest, could hear his own heartbeat as clearly as day. _**"Doesn't he, Brandon?"**_

Trent swallowed thickly. Ultron's gaze burned into him. An unbearable chill ran up both his and Hand's spines, despite the latter having nothing to do with the conversation and being off in a corner of the room.

_**"Do you understand what I mean by that illustration, Director Trent?"**_

This time, Trent didn't answer for a very long time.

Hand raised a shaky hand to brush a scarlet red bang out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

_**"And you, Deputy Hand?" **_he asked after several long moments of complete silence.

"I… I don't. I'm sorry," she answered, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. The door opened suddenly, causing her to jump slightly.

"Excuse me, Director Trent. We have a situation."

Trent left abruptly, without answering Ultron's question.

_**A/N: **__Props to anyone who guesses where that farmer illustration is from. :)_


	29. The Master

_**The Master**_

Magneto, the Master of Magnetism, floated ominously about the Helicarrier, arms folded across his chest and eyes aglow with his fundamental power.

"Ah, shit," Trent muttered as he caught sight of the situation. He had been preparing for this day for months, but it still sent a chill up his spine seeing an A-list supervillain within twenty feet of him. "Is he alone?"

"Seemingly. But, we're scanning a mile radius just to be on the safe side. We have an advantage being this high up, but against him, in a floating metal death trap, I'm not liking our odds," Sitwell replied.

"We just need to get him inside. Get his attention."

Sitwell nodded and moved over to one of the nearby consoles and pressed a button to activate the external intercom. "Mr. Lehnsherr, this is Agent Sitwell of SHIELD. If you'll follow the runway lights to the door, we can talk inside."

Magneto snarled and spread his arms out wide. As he did so, a metallic whine sent chills up every present agent's spine before the large glass window in the front of the helicarrier ripped open by the steel girders holding it in place. The dozen agents in the immediate area were instantly sucked out of the helicarrier. They had a long fall ahead of them. Their cacophony of terrified screams grew fainter by the second.

"Jesus shit!" Trent scrambled to stay on his feet and groped for whatever secure thing hr could get his hands on. Pressure from the gaping hole in the helicarrier threatened to suck even more agents out and drop them to their deaths. "Close that hole!"

Magneto calmly, but menacingly floated inside and touched down, seemingly unaffected by the produce of his own destruction.

Five more agents and countless pieces of equipment flew out of the hole before a blue field spread over the front window, sealing the hole and saving the few agents who were immediately in danger.

"You would dare," Magneto said in calm anger, " to address me by my human name, homo sapien?"

Immediately, ten high powered defense turrets, hidden in the walls and floor, opened fire on the intruder. It was a bid of horrible timing, as Magneto didn't appear to be overly hostile just yet.

That changed once he took control of the turrets, forced them to turn on the SHIELD agents.

Trent and Sitwell managed to duck down behind a console, which was bombarded with heavy fire that quickly turned it into a pile of porous scrap metal.

Twenty agents were riddled with fifty caliber rounds before Magneto crushed the turrets. A grim smile set upon his countenance at their cowering. Not one person who remained was brave enough to stand before him, and for good reason.

This man wasn't to be taken lightly. Trent knew that as well as anyone. It was his only hope that someone, preferable made of or armed with plastic weapons could show up soon.

After the display, Sitwell could only stutter and stumble through every answer at once. Trent subtly pressed a button the console beside him as he stood shakily, hiding the action behind the guise of him stumbling clumsily to his feet. "Magneto. I'm Brandon Trent, Director of SHIELD. I believe I'm the man you should be speaking to."

His voice was calm, but his words was laced with latent anger that caused Magneto to turn his attention toward him and raise an eyebrow. "I was told that the deaths of Pyro and Toad was caused by a SHIELD operation. By your command, I assume?"

Trent knew a man like Lehnsherr knew several dozen ways to kill him in a second. Painfully. He needed to tread carefully. "It was a retaliatory action, forced by your own actions."

Magneto tilted his head back. "_My_ actions were themselves retaliatory, forced by the actions of Norman Osborn."

"The cure."

"The anti-mutant poison that he intended to force upon me and my brothers and sisters," he spat. "My taking the doctors was purely to coerce him to cease his prejudice medicinal practice. They were never in any harm."

"But, how do I know that?" Trent countered. "You've killed before."

"When necessary."

"And how do I know that you wouldn't have deemed it "necessary" to kill those innocent doctors, to make a point? Osborn, as we both know, is a few eggs short of a full basket. He wouldn't have stopped even if you had those scientists, because he had a chance to be a national hero for curing the 'mutant problem'. So no, I don't believe that they weren't in any danger."

Magneto glowered and slowly approached Trent. Trent felt his heart jump into his throat and instinctively backed away. "And yet, you didn't just rescue our hostages. The murder of two of my brethren was nothing short of a declaration of war against Genosha and mutantkind." He extended a hand forward.

Suddenly, Trent felt a sharp, intense pain in his chest. It was as if something was pushing against his skin from the inside. He screamed out and fell to his knees.

"You will pay dearly for your transgressions. Both you and SHIELD."

Over a dozen armed guards rushed in and immediately opened fire on the mutant. He casually, but quickly, raised his free hand, halting the hail of bullets mid-flight. "You homo sapiens and your guns." He used his powers to snatch their rifles away, and then turned them against them. "You live by the sword, you die by the sword." His eye barely twitched, but it was all that was needed to fire all fifteen guns at once. The singular, simultaneous firing of all the rifles was deafening, just as was the collapsing of the dead bodies.

"This is but the first salvo, Trent. SHIELD will burn for crossing mutantkind." Trent was lifted in the air, which multiplied the pain by ten. "First, you die; then this floating monstrosity will crash and burn as a symbol of your fallen arrogance. Then –"

_**"Enough."**_

Magneto halted his villainous declaration to confront the new arrival. His eyes flashed with power at the sight of Ultron. "They send a metal creation to combat the Master of _Magnetism_?" He cackled mightily and slung Trent's limp body aside like refuse. "Very well then, machine. I will indulge you for a moment."

Trent landed in a heap somewhere nearby, groaning softly as the pain finally and mercifully subsided. He really did feel like he was about to die, but was thankful that Lehnsherr was a sadistic bastard and wanted him to suffer a little. He felt a pair of small hands on his back. "Don't worry sir, we'll get you to medical as soon as possible," Hand said reassuringly.

Ultron stood stoically between Magneto and the useless SHIELD agents. _**"Surrender, human."**_

Magneto had been amused by the robot. Now, he was visibly enraged. "You would _dare_ refer to me as a weak, pathetic human, machine?!"

_**"Yes. Because, that is what you are, biologically."**_

"Fool! I am Homo Superior! The next step of human evolution! To call me a human would be to call a lion a house cat!" His powers flared and he thrust his arms forward to tear Ultron apart.

Normally, this would have worked, but to his and everyone else's surprise, Ultron remained in his spot. _**"Incorrect. Mutants are nothing more than a more advanced subset of humanity, not a different race entirely. They are no different in terms of genetics than Gifted's, who are considered human. The only difference is that mutants are born with their abilities and unlock then through a spontaneous, stress inducing event." **_Ultron raised his arm and fired a repulsor at Magneto, who leaped out of the way. _**"It must be sad. To cling to something as insignificant as the so-called 'X-Gene' to prove your superiority. You share the same flaws and weaknesses as every other biological organism on this planet."**_

Magneto tried his powers again, and snarled when they again failed. "How? How are you defying me?!" he roared.

Ultron walked forward, unimpeded by the pieces of equipment that Magneto hurled his way. _**"To call yourself superior to humanity is not unlike a toddler declaring himself superior to infants. That is true, yet, in the end, all fall well short." **_A compartment opened in Ultron's wrist, and a plastic ball was ejected. It bounced forward until it reached Magneto. _**"You are a fool." **_A clear gas exploded from the ball, and sent Magneto into a coughing fit as he collapsed to the floor.

"Wha… what have you done to me?" he asked feebly.

_**"Negated your powers." **_He calmly removed the anti-mutant wristband he attached to his arm prior to confronting Magneto and tossed it aside. It was of no more use to him. _**"Your superiority hinges on your abilities. Without them, you are nothing but an old fool with only prejudiced words and bigoted views to comfort you."**_

He attempted to use his powers on a nearby rifle. The rifle didn't move even an nanometer. His face paled. "I… I'm…"

_**"A human? Quite so. Of course, you were always human, so this should not come as much of a surprise. Though, seeing you on the floor, feebly clinging to the last vestiges of your misguided superiority complex is quite amusing. I believe you called it 'a symbol of your fallen arrogance'. Heh." **_He then shot Magneto with a tranquilizer dart, rendering him unconscious.

Silence reigned momentarily before Sitwell stepped up. "Let's move, people! Trent to medbay, Magneto to the brig. He's depowered now, but we don't know how long the cure lasts, so I want him under constant power neutralization until we determine that for sure. Let's move!"

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _A few things. One, for visual's sake, I'm using the Michael Fassbender version of Magneto, though I have nothing against the McKellan version. _

_Two, I never really bought into the whole 'mutants are a different race from humans' thing. To me, they're no different from other superpowered beings, the only exception being that they're powers spontaneously flare at a certain age. Because of this, the whole persecution thing kind of falls apart._

_Three, Ordo Rolanberry made a comment a few chapters ago about this series of stories having a large death total. That got me curious enough to go through each chapter and tally up how many people died. The follow approximate numbers includes good guys, bad guys and innocent civilians. The Masters: 4,069; Requiem of Heroes: 646,609; Ghosts: 763; In Shadows: 61 and counting. That all adds up to a total of 651,502 deaths through three and a third (?) stories. _


	30. Giving the World the Freedom It Deserved

_**A/N:**__ Graphic violence warning_

_**Giving the World the Freedom It Deserved I**_

**01 Helicarrier Sickbay** – **1:37 PM**

"I want that fucking freak thrown in the deepest hole we have!" Trent roared.

The female doctor tending to him in the sickbay raised her arms slightly to keep him calm. "Sir, please try to stay calm. You heart –"

"Don't tell me to stay calm, damn it! That freak nearly killed everyone aboard this ship!" Why the hell hadn't that bastard been shot out of the sky if _that_ was what he planned on doing? What was the point of the algorithm of they weren't going to make use of it?

Hand did a tally of the agents still alive and present, and determined that fifty-two agents were killed by Lehnsherr. Fifty-two dead, for what? A point? That he could do whatever he wanted with impunity.

No. That wasn't how the world worked.

He was a terrorist, and it should have come as no surprise that his country was treated as exactly what it was – a country full of terrorists. They would all be dealt with in due time, but for now, they needed to make sure that the mutant cure worked as advertised. So far, the mutant negation field worked like a charm.

Good thing, too. It would have sucked to have put all that work into Ultron, and to invest so much into him, only for him to be given the tin can treatment.

The nurse removed the strap on his arm that had been measuring his blood pressure with a sigh that barely resigned her annoyance. In his anger, it had jumped up nearly twenty points. "I'll check it again when you calm down."

He sighed and hopped down from the table. He still felt weak from whatever it was that magneto did to him, and his right arm felt numb. "What the hell did he even do to me?"

"It appears that he was giving you a stroke that was progressively and rapidly getting worse. Had Ultron not inferred when he did, you'd be dead right now."

Trent cursed harshly, making the nurse and doctor both flinch. He either didn't notice or didn't care and silently slipped his jacket on. "Am I good to continue?" From his tone, he was going to keep working regardless of what they said, so the doctor just nodded.

As he walked out and strode into the hallway, he walked past Sitwell and grabbed his arm to make him walk in his direction. "Why weren't we better prepared for Magneto's attack?"

"Ah, sir, I'm –"

"Because, fifty-two deaths in a span of minutes is unacceptable when we have a manner of knowing what's going to happen before it happens." Before Sitwell could get a word in, he continued, "First Hill, now this. What's the use of the algorithm if we aren't going to use it properly?"

"Understood sir. It won't happen again."

"It had better not." With that, Sitwell turned and moved quickly to his station deeper in the helicarrier, while Trent headed for the main deck.

One of the good things about the Insight carriers was that they didn't need to land for fueling, or repairs. If the damage wasn't too extensive - and it wasn't in this case - then it could keep flying and receive repairs on the go.

"Director Trent," Deputy Hand called out as soon as he reached the deck.

"Unless it's good news, forget it, Hand," he grunted grumpily.

"It is. The President just reported that the US and UK have pulled out of the airstrikes against the Ten Rings," she reported.

At that, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He was certain that he was going to have to wait a little while longer before they finally receded. "Excellent. What brought that on that suddenly reversal?" As soon as he saw her face drop, he regretted asking.

"This." She handed a video file that depicted the French photojournalist, Jean Paul Carrez, being decapitated by the Ten Rings. The video hid nothing, showing the entire murder in all its grisly, bloody murder. The man's pained, terrified screams were sure to haunt everyone who listened for months to come.

Trent felt his stomach turn when the man's head fell from his body and bounced on the sandy ground. "A little warning would have been nice," he admonished sharply.

She cleared her throat and nodded. "Apologies."

Regardless of her lack of forethought, what she told him couldn't have made him more excited. Out of everything in the world, the Ten Rings were the foremost threat to world security. For whatever reason, they've made it their prerogative to reign terror against everyone. Even humanitarians and people doing good will work in struggling countries in the Middle East were taken and beheaded.

No one was safe. It was only a matter of time before they started going into countries and kidnapping innocent civilians to fuel their terrorist agenda. It was disgusting. And it was going to come to an end today. "Tell the 03 helicarrier to get ready. I want it ready to rain hell within half an hour."

"Yes sir. Oh, and you should know that there are several citizens in the UK and US that have been pledging their support to the Ten Rings," she said, almost as an afterthought.

He sighed heavily. It was one thing to have the nutjobs around the world and in third world countries joining and supporting these fucks. It was another to have American citizens showing their support for these savages. It almost made him pity them. How terrible must their lives have been for them to latch onto these people for support?

Almost.

In reality, it was sickening. "I want them brought in before the FBI gets a hold of them."

"Already being taken care of. When Sitwell alert me of the situation, I took the liberty to order that we bring in as many as we could before the US and British authorities could get a hold of them," she replied.

Trent smirked and clapped her on the back. "See? This is why I promoted you, Hand. Good job."

"Thank you, sir. Also, Sanders has one in custody as we speak. She just arrived from Kalamazoo, Michigan fifteen minutes ago."

_"Good. Let's watch and see what happens."_

The thirty-five year old woman sitting before Octavia Sanders couldn't really be called remarkable. She was of average beauty, average height from a small town in Michigan. She had short blonde hair cut into a bob, an average build, much like a middle aged mother. Her blue eyes were quivering with fear.

Sanders loved it.

She smiled kindly and folded her hands together on top of the cold metal table they were nothing sitting at. "Mrs. Hope Edison. Would you like to tell me why you're here?"

Hope swallowed thickly and nodded. "I… th-the man who brought me here said that I was suspected of supporting those terrorists. But! But I've never shown any support for those people! I swear I haven't."

Sanders hummed softly, and very calmly placed several sheets of paper down in front of Hope where she could easily read them. "You said some very different things just yesterday."

_'I love the Ten Rings!_

_Mandarin was my fave MoE! 3'_

Hope looked at the pages, guilt creeping on her features with every word she read. She opened her mouth, but what could she say? What excuse or reason could she give to explain herself? If she was thinking of something, Sanders wasn't going to give her the chance to.

"If there's one thing I hate more than a person who would dare threaten the world's freedom and security," she said as she stood, "it's a mouth breathing moron like you." She moved deliberately, stalking around the terrified Hope like a shark around a bleeding seal. Her fear was like sweet nectar to her; it nourished and enthralled her. "An average person who sees exactly what those people and these people did and do, and still support them."

"I –" Sanders' fist slamming into her hand cut her off completely. The three knuckles that bore the brunt of the impact shattered like gravel.

Hope tried to scream, but Sanders clapped her hand across her mouth. Her grip tightened until she could feel her cheekbones cracking and breaking. "Let me let you in on a little secret," she whispered. "I've met the Mandarin before, once upon a time. He's as charming a man as you think. But, he wouldn't give a whit about you, or any of the other people like you."

Hope fidgeted in her grasp, but Sanders didn't relent. A switchblade was produced in her left hand and popped open. She moved to stand behind the trembling woman. "And, neither do I." The blade was suddenly jammed into her jugular and dragged across her neck, slitting her throat from ear to ear. Crimson blood spurted from her gaping neck and splashed against the table and wall.

The woman gurgled pathetically and slumped across the table as Sanders let her go. The last thing she heard in this world was, "Where is your Ten Rings now?"

Trent regretted letting Hand see that, as it didn't go nearly the way he thought it would. He hazarded a glance and sighed internally at her gaping eyes and blanched face. "Sanders loves freedom," he said in an effort to placate her.

"That isn't freedom," she spat. "This isn't how SHIELD conducts it's business." Sanders stepped out, miraculously free from the blood that had been spurting out of the woman's neck like a sprinkler. Hand started to approach her with purpose, fully prepared to give her a thorough dressing down for her vulgar and brutal tactics. Any word she had prepared died when Sanders gave her a withering glare.

"Fury's SHIELD, sure," Trent retorted, as if nothing had happened. "Nowadays, we're sending a message."

Hand gulped and watched silently as Sanders stalked off to parts unknown. "To who?"

Trent turned partially to leave, but not completely so he could respond. His words were cold and without empathy for the middle aged mother of two who had just been brutally murdered in the interrogation room. "The rest of them. They disrupt the world's deserved freedom, or support those that do, they will pay the ultimate price."


	31. The Skies Rained Tears

_**The Skies Rained Tears**_

The Ten Rings were no more. It was quick, decisive, and with complete impunity. Once Trent gave the word for the 03 to open fire on its hundreds of targets, fire and hell rained down on the organization that had terrorized the world for so long. So many sins, not then least of which was the kidnapping of Tony Stark, were atoned for in the few short minutes the onslaught lasted.

They never saw it coming. They never imagined, even with the combined power of the United States and British armies, that anyone would be able to defeat them. They defied the wills of two world powers.

Little did the know, that the Anglo-Saxon alliances wasn't the real world power, not anymore. It was SHIELD. SHIELD was the true dominating force in the world. With its ability to correctly predict when and where disasters were going to take place, its three near unstoppable Insight helicarriers that could wipe out an entire organization in mere minutes, and its ever growing army of drones led by Ultron, it literally could have waged war against anyone, and would win.

Luckily, they were the good guys.

To prove this, Trent went ahead and had the 03 target all known members of Al-Qaeda. With their DNA tracking satellites, they could find them easily, even in the mountains that gave US soldiers fits.

One organization eliminated, and another one decimated almost to the point of extinction. Today was a good day.

Well, it was a good day for everyone not named Bobbi Morse. While everyone was celebrating SHIELD's decisive action and success against global terrorism, and the subsequent discouraging of domestic terrorism, she was holed up in her bunk, sitting on her bed with her eyes intently focused on her tablet.

Displayed in the screen was a video, uploaded just three days ago by a sixteen year old kid from Brooklyn. The videos subject matter? The day the Avengers were killed.

The video was all cued up, fully buffered and prepared to be watched uninterrupted from beginning to end, yet, she stalled and hesitated. For obvious reasons. The video was flagged from gruesome displays of blood and death - yet, had over a hundred million views already - so one could easily see why she would be reluctant. Yet, she had seen blood and gore in abundance over her stellar career. She had seen their deaths before.

It wasn't the reason why she was reluctant to press play.

She had been thinking the past several months, about a lot of things. Her missions mainly, but also the past.

_"So. Mrs. Barton. Gotta say, that has a sweet ring to it."_

_Bobbi Barton looked up from her novel to behold her husband, Clint, grinning down at her while holding a bright red drink in his outstretched hand. "Trying to get me drunk, Mr. Barton?" she teased as she took the drink and took a sip. "Not bad."_

_They had just tied the knot two days ago after just one month of dating, and were on their honeymoon in Tahiti, as recommended by Clint's handler and friend Phil Coulson. _

_Their love was true and real. Anyone that come across one or both of them could see that. And everyone, for the most part was happy. Except Natasha. As Clint's friend and partner, she shared a relationship with him that no one, not even Bobbi could have comprehended. It was like love, yet it wasn't. It was something more._

_Bobbi would be lying if she said that it didn't bother her a little. Natasha was an attractive woman, and Clint admitted to feeling attracted to her early on in their partnership. Even though he swore up, down, left and right that those feelings were long gone, she still felt some unease with him being so close to her for extended periods of time._

_Mistakes happened._

_Still, she was on her honeymoon, and she wasn't about to let some Russian ruin it. "Come hither, Clint," she said with a tempting bat of her long eyelashes._

_"With pleasure, milady." Clint sunk down into her hammock and adjusted her so that she was lying on top of him before pressing his lips against hers. They kissed so passionately for what seemed like an eternity before Bobbi broke the kiss. "Wanna consummate our marriage? Again."_

_She grinned against his lips. "You know I do."_

Times were simpler back then. She and Clint met through Coulson, who was still showing Bobbi around the old helicarrier when Clint strutted by. He just oozed confidence, and she couldn't take her eyes off him. He noticed this, and before she knew it, she was saying 'I do' across from him in a church in DC in front of dozens of SHIELD agents.

It was the happiest moment of her life. The happiness didn't last long. They were only married six months before… problems arose. The majority of them stemming from the rumors that Hawkeye and Black Widow were an item.

The rumors had always been there, long before Bobbi came along. Clint and Natasha had been partners for eight years, and Bobbi showed up in Clint's life in year four. They were inseparable. Many thought they were dating; they had to be. Why else would he be so overprotective of her, and she so affectionate with him? Even Bobbi believed the rumors – until he dropped down to a knee and asked her to marry him.

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe that people were still spreading the Hawk/Widow relationship rumors, either. Even after they were married, they kept flying, started by the very same people who attended their wedding.

It made her insecure. Now that she looked back on it, it was stupid to let it all get to her and make her paranoid, but she did and it did. She didn't outright accuse of him of cheating - she knew that he was a one woman man - but, she made her dislike of Natasha known, and her distrust of her.

_"You need to find a new partner," she stated matter-of-factly one cold November day. _

_Clint sighed and set the arrow he had been sharpening down. "This again?"_

_She didn't miss the annoyance in his voice. She narrowed her eyes. "Yes, this again. The rumors won't stop until –"_

_"The rumors aren't going to stop anyway, Bobbi. You know that. Nat is the best partner I've had. I'm not change just because some asshole can't mind their own damn business and you keep listening to them."_

_That shouldn't have set her off the way it did. He was telling the truth, and he wasn't wrong in the slightest. She knew that. It was just that she was so tired. "You know what? I am so sick and tired of this."_

_"Sick of what, Bobbi?"_

_And then, it all just came out like water out of a broken dam. "I'm sick and tired of you spending more time with her than you do me! I'm sick and tired of you not saying a damn thing to stop these rumors from swirling, as if it's a nice stroke of your ego to hear that two babes have the hots for you! I'm sick and tired of her looking at me like I'm some obstacle that needs to be taken out so your destined love can be realized! I'm just so –"_

_Clint stood and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "Bobbi. Bobbi, calm down. Just breathe and let's talk about this."_

_"Oh, you wanna talk? Alright, let's talk. Why don't you tell me about that time Natasha did that thing that was sooo funny, but she didn't dare laugh because she's the big bad Black Widow who doesn't laugh or smile or do anything but glare and castrate people. Except you, because somehow, you've cracked the code of the Black Widow and you can get her to laugh and smile and giggle and act like an actual human being instead of a fucking robot!"_

_"Bobbi –"_

_"Natasha this, Nat that. Hey, Bobbi, Natasha did this today. Hyuk hyuk, ain't that a knee-slapper?"_

_"Bobbi, please –"_

_"Please what? Stop making fun of your __precious__ Natasha?" _

_Clint flinched at the vitriol in her words. _

_"Just… just switch your partner already. She isn't so good that you can't find someone else."_

_"You don't understand. I can't. We work too well together," he countered._

_"Why can't we work together? We work well together, right?"_

_"Yeah, we do. But that's against protocol."_

_She snarled and ripped herself from his grip. "Oh, so now you want to follow and obey protocol. The guy who disobeyed a direct order based on God knows what and brought in a heartless, ruthless assassin won't break protocol to work with his dear ol' wife. HAHAHAHAHAH! That's so fucking rich, Clint."_

_"It was the right call, wasn't it?"_

_Her eyes glazed over icily as she opened her mouth to answer. "No. You should have killed her when you had the chance. Sooner or later, you'll wish you had," she answered coldly. _

Bobbi closed her eyes to blink the tears away. It wasn't fair or right what she threw at him, she knew that now. At the time, it was just one of many things on her plate. It seemed that they are destined to split and go their separate ways. That was, until she was captured and drugged by a man named Lincoln Slade. She still didn't quite know what all he made her do, but she had long decided that that was for the best.

Clint was so supportive of her right after SHIELD rescued her. She thought that this was the thing to pull them through their rough patch and help them move on with their marriage. And it would have been, had Sitwell not let it slip that they found a man they believed to be Slade. Bobbi left, and killed that man.

_"Bobbi, what the hell did you do?!" Clint demanded as he walked into their living room. Bobbi was curled up in the recliner, knees drawn up to her chest and a blank stare etched on her face. "Bobbi!"_

_"I killed him! I threw him off a mountain, Clint!" Her voice hitched. She thought that he would have approved, but he looked so angry and disappointed. _

_"You shouldn't have done that. You –"_

_"Fuck you! I did what needed to be done," she spat in disgust. "And you of all people shouldn't be taking the moral high road. How many people has the Hawk killed in his career. Twenty? Thirty?"_

_"Bobbi. I'm not taking the high road. I'm telling you that you were wrong," he explained as calmly as he could, but it was easy to tell that he was losing his patience. _

_She prodded just a little be more. "Oh, I'm wrong, am I? You just said that you weren't taking the high road, yet you still insist that I'm wrong."_

_Clint's hand clenched into a fist as he drew in a deep breath to calm down. "I'm trying to explain it to you. You're not seeing this for what it is –"_

_"I see it for exactly what it is. I was drugged, possibly raped. I killed the guy as –"_

_"Bobbi. That guy you killed –" _

_"Are you… are you defending this man?! This man drugged me, Clint!"_

_"No, he didn't. Bobbi, will you just listen!"_

_"No! Why should I listen to a –"_

_"I'm trying to explain it to you! That man –"_

_"Was a fucking rapist!"_

_"No, he wasn't! Goddamn it, Bobbi!"_

_She growled angrily under her breath. Her fists were clenched so tightly that they were shaking. "If this were Natasha, there wouldn't even be a discussion! You be coddling her and telling her, 'it's okay Natasha. You did good Natasha.'!"_

_"SHE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!" he roared. _

_"SHE HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH EVERYTHING! YOUR ENTIRE WORLD REVOLVES AROUND HER!"_

_"WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING PARANOID?!"_

_"WHY ARE YOU SO __UNSUPPORTIVE__?!"_

_The tablet that was in his hand, presumably containing the evidence to support his side of the argument, flew from his hand and smashed against the brick fireplace. "That's it! I've had it!" He stormed toward the door._

_"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?!"_

_"AWAY FROM YOU!"_

_Bobbi faltered, the seething anger in her heart was being quickly replaced by hurt. "You're going to her, aren't you?!"_

_"Better than being around you, that's for damn sure!"_

_Whatever Bobbi had prepared to lash back died on her tongue. He didn't want – "…if you walk out that door, don't come back."_

_"I wont," he said with no hesitation. "Actually, scratch that. I will come back, so you can sign the divorce papers."_

_It hit her like a punch to the stomach. But, she refused to let him see her even so much as flinch. "Fine. You want a divorce, you got one."_

Salty tears flowed like a broken faucet down her cheeks, coalescing at the tip of her chin and dripping down on the bed.

It turned out that the man who captured and drugged her and the man she killed in retribution of that were not the same person.

Clint was right.

She had killed an innocent man for something that he had nothing to do with.

She found out months later, and was devastated. Not only because she had taken an innocent life, but because she threw her entire life with Clint away.

Once they divorced, they didn't speak to each other. Not a single word outside of a quick greeting whenever they passed each other, which was once in a blue moon. She tried to apologize for their last argument, but, funnily enough, Natasha wouldn't let her near him.

She couldn't blame her – she would have done the exact same thing.

She had been thinking about calling him up in spite of her, but by their time she worked up the nerve, the Masters of Evil happened.

Then, he was gone. Dead. And their relationship was to forever remain in ruins, with so many unspoken apologies. She couldn't even admit to Rhodes that they were even married.

_"__Hawkeye and I work… did work together whenever we had time off together." She sighed. "Yep." _

_"You two were close?"_

_She shrugged listlessly. "Kind of. No closer than friends. Widow made sure of that. Can't blame her; guy was a regular lothario."_

What was she supposed to say? That she let stupid rumors tear her marriage to shreds, to the point where the man wouldn't even speak to her? No. She couldn't even admit that to herself, not just two and a half weeks after losing him for good. Not after realizing that the last thing she said to him had come to fruition.

Her last words of significance to him, after signing the papers, were that she was moving to the west coast and that she never wanted to see him again.

At the time, she wanted to hurt him one last time. Now, the words' foresight hurt her even worse. Now, no matter what, she was never going to see him again.

With a deep breath, she pressed play on her tablet and sat back to watch. Instinctively, her fingers slipped up toward her mouth so she could chew her fingernails.

_The amateur video recorded by the young man in the massive crowd in Times Square was shaky, presumably due to his hand shaking. He was situated to the right of the Avengers and Masters, which was a never before seen angle, since most news crews were either behind or above the action._

"_…__And these, your protectors. They placed their hopes on another to save them. You built them up to be invincible. And they were, except when they needed to be."_

_A hush fell across the assembled crowd._

_He drew his handgun and walked over to Tony. He pressed the muzzle against his temple. The genius billionaire just looked up at him, pure hatred and regret fighting for dominance in his brown eyes. "You did say you wanted his execution to be televised live."_

_The gun shot was deafening,__._

_The boy gasped in sheer horror. The camera could just catch the pool of blood under Tony's head._

_Zemo stepped in in front of Steve and pressed the hot muzzle against his forehead. "Be certain to say hello to my father for me," he requested as he pulled the trigger, "in Hell."_

_"No," the young man whimpered weakly. The phones microphone just caught his soft sniffles._

_Clint was next. He had nothing to say to Zemo, but instead to his head to the right and said, "I love you." An audible, heart breaking shudder escape __Natasha._

_"Clint, you bastard." Jessica looked up from his body and beheld Zemo's gun her face._

The rest of the video wasn't watched. The video was still playing, at full volume, so the remaining gunshots was clearly audible, but it was just background noise at thus point. A raging inferno was spreading across Bobbi's face. It felt like her ears at caught on fire. Her head was swimming and she felt ill.

"Oh God," she mumbled as she slipped to the floor and keeled over to all fours. "Oh… oh God."

_"I love you."_

His final words echoed in her head, taunting her with their tantalizing meaning. His eyes, his steel blue eyes, penetrated her right to her core, like they always had back then. He was looking right at her when he said it. _"I love you."_

How? How could he still love her after everything she said? After everything she did to ruin their marriage their lives together, how? Why?

Tears splashed against the cold metal floor of her bunk, dripping against steel like a leaky faucet.

All she wanted to say was she was sorry. Sorry for everything. If he wanted her back, she would be there. She didn't care what they said about him and Romanoff – and there were _still_ people insisting that they were a couple. She didn't care if Romanoff wouldn't have liked it. If there was a chance he'd be willing to start over, then she would jump at it and forget and forgive everything.

If they could be together again…

But, they couldn't. Zemo made sure of that, even if he had no idea he was doing it.

His final words to her, _"I love you."_

Her final words to him, _"I'm moving to LA and I never want to see your face again."_

She would debate for a very long time whose words hurt her the most, hers or his. She was leaning toward hers. Hindsight was always 20/20. It was easy to tear herself a new one for being such as asshole.

What wasn't easy, what would test her as a person, would be to forgive herself and move on. It was going to be hard not to hate herself, now that she knew that Clint had forgiven her before he died and still loved her.

It was going to be the hardest thing she had ever tried to do, because, "I-I love you, too."


	32. The Offer

_**A/N:**__ A bit of femslash upcoming. Hope you all don't mind._

_**The Offer**_

**The Triskelion **

**December 31, 2013 – 11:35 PM**

Dressed in a red cocktail dress and cloaked in a black mink coat, which proved to be the first time since last New Year's Eve that she had worn a dress, Victoria was off by herself, already tired of the jovial New Year's Eve party that she was, frankly, forced to attend. There was an abundance of things - some important, others not so much - that she would have rather been doing than watching drunken idiots stumble around and make complete asses out of themselves.

In Trent's mind, this was a fine team building exercise. That much maligned phrase conjured up memories of the Avengers and their almost never-ending quest to become, not an effective team, but to stop from killing each other. Or, that was the rumor, anyway. She wasn't inclined to believe that, just like she didn't believe that Barton and Romanoff were an item, or Rogers and Romanoff, or Banner and Romanoff, or Rogers and Stark, or Stark and Banner, or the Maximoffs were in some kind of incestuous relationship.

There were a lot of young women within SHIELD with _far_ too much time on their hands.

She, unfortunately, wasn't one of them. This was one of the few times a year that she got significant time off, and she had to spend it here, at the Triskelion, at a party with idiots.

She was starting to see why Hill hated her job so much.

"Enjoying yourself, Deputy Hand?"

Victoria shivered slightly and steeled herself to face the woman behind the question. Forcing a smile, she turned and nodded. "Somewhat, Agent Sanders." She took the glass of champagne that she was offered. "And you?"

"I'd say so. This is the first New Year's Eve party that I've been too. Christmas party, too." She pursed her lips and moved forward slightly to lean against the frigidly cold railing overlooking the frozen Potomac river. "May I ask you something, Deputy?"

Victoria hid her anxious sigh behind a sip of champagne. "Of course."

"I… couldn't help but notice that you've been avoiding me this past month. May I ask why?"

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't immediately answer. "I've been busy." Which wasn't a _complete_ lie. She had been busy this past month. While her workload didn't increase to the sudden and drastic degree that Hill's had, thankfully, it had increased to some degree over the last several weeks.

But, she had been going slightly out of her way to avoid any unnecessary contact with the woman. After her… display in the interrogation room last month, and her generally blase attitude toward killing that civilian woman, she couldn't stomach being in the same general vicinity as her for too long.

Like right now, for instance. She was desperately hoping that Trent or someone would come out to join them so she wouldn't be alone with her. But, most of the agents thought that she was insane for standing out in the cold for any lengthy period of time. Being from Maine, cold didn't bother her as much as it did others. Apparently, Sanders was the same.

"Fair enough. Listen," she moved a little closer to Victoria and lowered her voice, "I know you were… disturbed by that interrogation last month. I suppose that if I were you, I would avoid me, as well. And, I think I let my feelings get in the way of my –"

"No."

"No?"

"No, you don't get to say that your feelings got in the way. You killed a woman; not just any woman, but an American citizen whose civil liberties were violated from the start," Victoria said in a tone as frigid as the night air.

Octavia sighed and placed her champagne glass down on the railing. "Prisoners don't have rights on this helicarrier. At least not beyond those set out in –"

"I am aware of that. But, I'm certain that not having their throat slit falls under those basic human rights. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would. Which is why I admitted freely that I got carried away." She sighed again, heavily and weighed down with hidden, latent emotions that Victoria couldn't read right away. "Look, I… freedom means a lot to me. My parents were born in the Soviet Union during the height of its powers. They didn't know what freedom tasted like until they managed to immigrate to the United States. From the day I was born, they constantly taught me to always treasure my freedom, and to never let anyone or anything take it away from me."

She sniffed softly; the corners of her eyes sparkled with hidden wetness in the pale moonlight. "These terrorists, they take that freedom away. They want to rule over everyone and everything. They don't care who they have to kill, or whose lives they destroy. They'll do anything they can to achieve their goals. _They_ are the monsters. And the people who sympathize with them, so called 'American citizens' who show their support for these animals, are monsters themselves. I say that because they have to know who they are and what they do. If they don't, they're idiots who don't deserve to waste precious oxygen anyway."

Octavia snatched her glass up off the railing and downed the rest of it in one swallow.

Victoria watched her silently, her brows creased into a pensive frown. She was passionate, that was for sure. And she spoke about her family, albeit briefly; it occurred to her right then that she had actually never spoken about her personal life. Or anything about outside of her name, level rank and previous position. Purposefully, certainly. It left her with this air of mystery about her.

Victoria, as her anger and distaste subsided, found herself suddenly intrigued by the woman standing before her. "I… I didn't know that. I'm sorry if it seemed that I was being judgmental."

"You were," she answered bluntly. "But, you're forgiven."

She nodded and finished off her glass before setting it down. "So, you said that your parents were from the Soviet Union?"

"Yes, from Armenia. They immigrated here when I was just six, two years before the Union fell." A wistful smile crossed her beautiful, ruby red lips. "They cried when they arrived here. They had lived their entire lives under the oppressive Russian rule, so they didn't know what it was like to be free."

Had she not just told her, she would have never believed that the woman was from another country. Her accent, her New Jersey accent, was impeccable, undoubtedly the result of months of conditioning her voice. "Do you mind if I ask what your real name is?"

Her wistful smile grew knowing as she nodded. "Suzan Tarpinian."

Contrary to her expectations, her true accent didn't slip put when she spoke her name. A shame, but it wasn't worth getting worked up over.

What was worth getting worked up over was the fact that Octavia had a gorgeous pair of sky blue eyes. Much like the actual sky, they seemed like an endless expanse of beauty that she couldn't stop herself from becoming lost in.

Her own eyes wanted to move downward to analyze, scrutinize and appreciate the rest of her body, but she wouldn't give them the opportunity to make a fool out of her. "Nice name." It didn't help that the silver dress she was wearing clinged to her breathtaking curves like Saran Wrap. She very suddenly found that she was unable to take her eyes off of her, and she wasn't entirely sure that it was because of the alcohol. "Very nice name."

Octavia smirked knowingly. Thanks. I think so, too. Of course, I like my current name better." She subtly moved a few inches closer, until there was only a scant two feet between them. "Now, in the spirit of fairness, you have to tell me a little about yourself."

She nodded. "I was born in Maine. Average family that tended to take things that yours valued for granted," she answered easily enough. It wasn't as romantic as immigrating from a war-torn, oppressed country. "Nothing particularly remarkable happened during my childhood," she continued, "I wasn't oppressed or anything. But, discrimination was a big deal for me back then."

"Oh, really?" she inquired with a curious eyebrow raise.

She nodded and sighed deeply. "I, uh, determined that I was a lesbian when I was sixteen. This was back in '88, so things like gay rights were a distant dream. Parents didn't like it, my friends pretty much abandoned me. The whole AIDS thing had them spooked, I guess." She shrugged.

"Was it a phase?"

"No. I still am one. It wasn't until I joined SHIELD that I found some equality. Of course, I don't have any time to pursue a relationship, but," she shrugged again, "trade-off is acceptable enough."

Why was she telling her all of this? In the spirit of fairness? Fair didn't mean transparent. She didn't discuss her life for a reason. Being suddenly looked upon as a pariah because of her sexual preferences wasn't something that she felt was particularly heroic or something worth discussing with someone she barely knew.

In the distance, fireworks exploded overhead, filling the silence that they had fallen into. It was a comfortable silence, born from neither really having anything relevant to say. Victoria was thankful for that. As long as they moved on from her younger years, she didn't care what they talked about.

"So, then you're single?" Octavia asked out of the blue.

She faltered noticeably. "Ah, yes, I am. Like I said, I have no time for a relationship."

Octavia smirked and looked up at her through hooded eyes. Victoria felt her heart rate jump when she peered into her eyes. "That's a shame. A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn't be alone."

Was she… was she coming onto her? "Well, I," she said while clearing her throat, "I'm not technically alone. I have my colleagues and a few friends on the outside that I Skype with when I have a moment."

"You know what I meant," she said, voice husky and laced with flirty undertones she hadn't been expecting when this conversation began.

Yes. She was coming on to her. Great. And while it stung to hear it implied that she had no sex life, she wasn't necessarily wrong. She _didn't_ have one, but because she had no time. "It isn't like I have –"

"Time? Of course you do. Sex only takes ten minutes, tops." Her smirk increased ever so slightly as she moved closer, cutting the space between them in half.

Victoria could feel the warmth of her breath, and smell the intoxicating aroma of her perfume as it wafted through the gentle, nippy breeze. "As true as that may be, I'm the second highest ranked officer here. Sex with my subordinates is bad form."

At that, Octavia backed away. "You're right, of course. It's just… I'd hate for you to make a mistake because you're so pent up."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not pent up. I have exceptional self-control." As evidenced by her ability to hold her tongue, despite being somewhat tipsy. "Are you offering to help me alleviate some tension?" Well, so much for that.

"Maybe," she replied cryptically. "Would you say no."

"Depends on whether you could keep it a secret from our boss."

"I'm a spy," she replied. "I'm a professional at keeping secrets."

"Then, I'll keep your offer in mind." With a nod, Victoria intended on taking her leave with haste right then and there, unwilling to make a further ass out of herself, but the sudden and relentless onslaught of fireworks from across the Potomac halted her departure before the first step was made.

Midnight came a lot more quickly than she anticipated, especially since the night had been dragging at a snail's pace all night. She turned, intending to bid Sanders a happy new year, but instead felt a pair of soft, wet lips pressing against hers. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe she was right in saying that she was pent up, but she quickly found herself kissing her back.

She didn't know why, but she liked it. Sanders was a very nice kisser.

Her hands found the woman's hips and pulled her closer. It had to be the alcohol. Even if she was sexually repressed, there was no way she would risk making out with a subordinate right there on the roof of SHIELD's global headquarters sober.

The kiss was broken, and a pregnant pause ensued as they maintained eye contact. "I… I'll keep your offer in mind. Happy New Year."

"Very good. And Happy New Year, Deputy." Octavia curled her tantalizing lips, smeared lipstick revealing their scandalous embrace, and stalked off to a nearby restroom. Victoria watched her hips sway and her tight backside bounce in rhythm with her steady gait until she vanished behind the tinted doors leading inside the conference room the party was taking place in.

She bit her bottom lip nervously and swept her hair out of her face. "Well, Victoria, that happened."


	33. Reality

_**Reality**_

**Harlem, New York**

**January 9, 2014**

**11:32 PM**

Ultron had save hundreds of lives in the past several months since his activation. In the rescues, property damage had plummeted by nearly 550%. Billions of dollars in street and building repairs, car repairs, insurance payouts and medical bills had been saved, all thanks to SHIELD's hero.

Of course, no one actually knew that Ultron was a SHIELD weapon. As far as they knew, he merely was a man in a suit, like Iron Man and War Machine. Not that it would have mattered. For years, they never batted an eye at being saved by green people, rock beings, mutants - well, most didn't mind - or people surrounded by fire. It should have come as no surprise that they wouldn't mind being saved by a robot, if they knew.

No one knew why Trent was so mum about Ultron's ties to SHIELD or his true inorganic nature. Some speculated that it was a part of SHIELD's transition to the shadows to protect the world in secret. Others suggested that it really wasn't important and he didn't want to waste anyone's time. Still others thought that he didn't want to steal any of Ultron's thunder, though those same people knew that Ultron didn't really care one way or the other.

Whatever the case was, no one in the general public knew that Ultron was in allegiance with SHIELD. If Trent thought that it was for the best, then SHIELD agents weren't going to bother him or themselves with it.

_"The First National Bank in Houston, Texas was saved from a robbery from dangerous supervillianess Diamondback by members of the elite army known as the Ultron Force. These brave men and women engaged Diamondback quickly and efficiently and had her in handcuffs en route to the local prison within ten minutes, right in time for the after work business to pick up."_

Superheroes were all over the globe, and many of them prided themselves on being the fastest to defeat their respective rogues galleries. But, no matter how fast a hero or heroine was, Ultron was faster.

This didn't sit well with the heroes. They didn't like having someone show them up and do their jobs better than they could.

And they made this known to anyone who would listen. Many heroes, as they had become accustomed to doing, went on various talk shows to express their concerns about the world's mechanical savior.

For example, Simon Williams, aka Wonderman, was on the David Letterman Show to discuss his new movie, _Shadow of Democracy, _when the subject of Ultron came up.

_"Hey, don't get me wrong, I appreciate what those guys are doing,"_ he said when asked what he thought about the Ultron Force._ "It's just that a lot of us are starting to feel useless, you know. It's like he knows what's going to happen before we do, and that makes it hard to respond first, especially when there seems to be thousands of them."_

_"When you say that it makes it hard to respond first,"_ Dave asked, _"is that to say that there's a competition of sorts to save the most lives and stop disasters first?"_

_"Not at all,"_ Simon said with a brief chuckle. _"What I mean is that we can't even strap our boots on and fly or run or jet over there to help out before he's already dusting his hands off and flying away." _

_"A lot of heroes have been complaining about just that. That because there are so many of those drones or people or whatever they are that they don't have a chance to do anything."_

Simon nodded knowingly. _"It's because, for a lot of us, this is all we have. While some of us have day jobs and other gigs, this is really what we live to do. It's all a lot of us are good at. If you have a job, something that you're good at, it doesn't feel good. It sucks, and really, none of us like it. The ones that are taking it the worst are the younger heroes."_

_"I never did like young heroes. I don't think a lot of people feel comfortable with being saved with someone the same age as their teenage son or daughter. Or with wondering if that person really is their teenage son or daughter. At least I don't, anyway."_

_"That's a fair point. In a lot of ways, them being off the streets is a good thing. It forces them to concentrate on other things like school work or their social lives. But for us adult heroes, yeah, there's a lot of discontent and insecurity out there, for good reason. I'm not sure what will come of it, but I just hope that everyone keeps a cool head."_

_"If you could say one thing to the heroes that might be watching tonight or hear about this tomorrow, what would you say?"_

Simon tilted his head down, pensively frowning. _"I'd… I'd say to keep a calm and just try to roll with it. It may seem bad, but there's always a silver lining."_

"Easier said than done."

Luke Cage was sitting on his sofa watching Wonderman try to explain the overall mindset of the superhero community. On his lap was his sleeping three year old daughter, Danielle, and to his left was his best buddy, Danny Rand. His wife, Jessica, had went out to conduct some business for her private investigation office, so Luke secretly allowed Danielle to stay up to see her favorite hero, Wonderman.

He pretended not to be offended that Power Man wasn't even considered.

"He is right, though." Luke muted the television and stood to put Danielle to bed. "There's gotta be a positive side in this somewhere."

One positives that he could immediately find was that he had more time with his wife and daughter. Since Ultron was handling most of the issues that took up his off time from the Heroes for Hire, he found that he didn't have to go out on patrol as much.

"At least the young heroes are off the streets for now. I'd hate for something terrible to happen to one of them," Danny added.

Luke tucked her in and kissed her forehead. "Yeah, like those New Warriors. Oh! Speaking of…"

He hurried back to the living room and turned the channel to MTV. A rerun of the New Warriors Show, a reality show showcasing the adventures of a band of teenage heroes known as the New Warriors, was playing.

Danny made a face and plopped down beside Luke. "I never got the appeal of this show. We all say we don't want kids out risking their lives, and yet, here we are glorifying it."

Luke could only shrug. The show was well into its second season, which had mostly consisted of the team - Robbie Baldwin, aka Speedball; Dwayne Taylor, aka Night Thrasher; Namorita, cousin of Namor the Sub-Mariner; and Zachary Smith Jr, aka Microbe - traveling through the Midwest to find and take down relatively unknown villains that had escaped capture when the Masters of Evil were taken down earlier in the year. There was an abundance of villains, but they were hard to find, and the ones they did find were no-name bank robber types, not the major villains that they or the audience were hoping for.

As a result, second season ratings were fledgling. This wasn't helped by one of the more popular heroes, Nova, leaving the show to go fight aliens in space. And, of course, Ultron scooping up all the bad guys and ending all disasters before they and their camera crews could arrive only made matters worse. Because of this latter reason, the New Warriors were the most vocal in voicing their displeasure with Ultron.

Realizing this gave Simon Williams' words a lot of weight. This team in particular depended on the show's success to fund their heroics and personal lives. Without those ratings, they would likely not make enough from the show to continue their heroes work; and none of them had any other source of income, other than Namorita asking her cousin for money.

It was a tough situation to be in, and was one that was a point of contention in recent episodes. It created real drama, and fans ate it up. This included Luke and Jessica, much to the confusion of Danny.

"It's a guilty pleasure, what can I say," he explained with a noncommital shrug.

"It's exploitation of children, Luke. These kids are throwing themselves into dangerous situations… for money," Danny reasoned.

Luke shook his head. "That may be true, but they're still heroes. Besides, the worst they've fought this season was Egghead, for shit's sake." They both started laughing.

"This still doesn't sit well with me, though, dude. They're still kids. Kids make mistakes all the time," he gestured to the large purple stain on the carpet where Luke's daughter spilled her grape juice. "Only difference between some high school kid and Speedball is that Speedball's mistakes can cost people their lives. Add in the fact that their actively pursuing villains dangerous enough to inhabit the Raft, and that they're still relatively inexperienced, and that's a recipe for disaster."

Luke frowned, and tried to find something to rebut. He couldn't.


	34. Playing With the Big Boys

_**Playing With the Big Boys**_

**Stamford, Connecticut**

**February 7, 2014 – 12:43 PM**

Today was a big day. The sleepy, snow covered city of Stamford, Connecticut was going to be the stage of a revival. What was going to be revived? The ratings for the one time hit reality show, _The New Warriors. _Led by Speedball, the New Warriors were a group of young superheroes, all younger than seventeen, that were inspired by the Avengers, Fantastic Four and X-Men to help protect the world from evil.

But, unlike other heroes, they also followed after the Heroes for Hire and got paid for their services. Paid in that they received a salary from MTV for doing the reality show. All of their exploits, as well as their private team moments were recorded and broadcasted for millions of viewers to watch from the comfort of their living rooms. The show put them right in the action of hero/villain battles. It revealed to them the visceral, gritty life that heroes often lived when the capes were hung up and the masks were pulled back.

Unfortunately, ratings began to dip when fan favorite Nova, aka Richard Ryder, left the show near the season one finale to fight aliens in space. It was an emotional moment that brought in many viewers, but the team wasn't the same. A lot of fans griped about his abrupt departure and stopped watching.

It only got worst when season two started. By the time the debut aired, the breakout at the Raft occurred, giving the team plenty of bad guys to hunt down. But, a combination of villains being exceptional at hiding and Ultron taking down the major ones before they could get to them, the New Warriors found themselves finding nobody after nobody. Ratings hit an all-time low and rumblings about canceling the show became louder, both from fans and producers.

Desperation was setting in. They needed a big score, or else they would all be out of a paying job.

That was what brought them to Stamford, Connecticut. They received word from Night Thrasher's contacts that a group of villains was hiding out in a small neighborhood. As soon as they received word, they took off, hoping to arrive before Ultron caught wind and tried to steal their thunder once again.

They arrived on the morning of February 7th, and Ultron was no where to be found. Their inconspicuous van was parked across the street from where their quarry was holed up. They, along with the camera crew and makeup artists, were hiding behind a clump of trees and bushes that hid them from cursory view.

_=Okay, how many supervillains are we talking here, Speedball?=_ asked Howard Wallace, the show's producer, who was watching the live feed from the MTV's control room.

Speedball poked his head up from the bushes and did a quick headcount through the open curtains in the back of the house. "Three. …No, wait, I think I see Coldheart in the backyard emptying the trash. That's four of 'em in total; and all four are on the FBI most wanted list, right?"

Wallace had the man next to him do a quick search to confirm it. Affirmed, he responded, _=Cobalt Man, Coldheart, Speedfreak, Nitro… yep. They all broke out of the Raft seven months ago, and all have records as long as your arm. Coldheart fought Spider-Man a couple of times, and - get this - Speedfreak almost took down the __Hulk__.=_

"He what?" Night Thrasher sputtered in complete disbelief.

Microbe was already shaking his head. Drops of sweat were running down his rotund face. "These guys are totally out of our league, man. No way we should be going in there."

Speedball only grinned and waved off his concerns. "But, think of the ratings, Microbe. This could be the best episode of the entire second season!" He peaked up to check the house again. When he squatted back down, he continued, "Six months we've been driving around the Midwest, looking for goofballs to fight. And the best we've managed so far was a bum with a spray can and a wooden leg. This could be the episode that really puts the New Warriors on the map, dude. We beat these guys and people stop bitching about Nova leaving the show to go out into space."

White haired and blue-skinned Atlantean Namorita nodded in agreement, already psyched up for the fight. "So, what's the plan?"

Speedball sneered and pointed up at her face. "The plan is for you to spend another five minutes in makeup, Namorita. Ya really think people wanna see that great big ugly zit on your chin?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. As she moved back to receive a touch up, Night Thrasher observed the house through a pair of binoculars. He saw Coldheart, a woman of Asian decent who was wearing a blue, loose fitting crop top and matching pants, looking in their direction, then her eyes widening with recognition.

"Then we –" Speedball continued before be cutoff by Thrasher.

"Uh oh," he murmured loudly enough for the others to hear.

Microbe swallowed thickly and wiped the sweat from his brow. "What's up?"

"We've been marked," he informed as he watched the villainess sprint back into the house.

"Everyone suit up! It's a raid!" she screeched as she dashed inside.

Their cover was blown, so they had no time to go over a solid strategy. "GO!" Speedball led the charge toward the house, and was the first one to crash through the back window. The first person he encountered was Speedfreak, a man with long purple hair tied back into a ponytail and a black shirt and white boxers over his metal suit. He was reaching for his helmet when Speedball smashed into him.

"Holy shit!" he managed before being tackled and driven through the front door and into the yard.

"I've heard that clothes make the man, Speedfreak," he said as he stood to his feet and connected a punch that snapped his head back. "And in your case, it's totally true!"

The cameraman that was nearby cursed silently. "Sound was off for a second there, bud. Any chance we can get that last part again?"

"Sure thing." He spun around and fired a heel kick that knocked Speedfreak out cold. As he did, he repeated, loudly, "And in your case, it's totally true, chuckles!"

Namorita and Night Thrasher were having a time with Coldheart and her cryo-enhanced swords. With one swing, she sliced clean through one of the latter's battle staves. "Wait a minute. I know you guys," she realized. "You're those idiots from that reality show. I'm not getting taken down by Goldfish Girl and The Bondage Queen!"

"Beg to differ, Coldheart," Namorita retorted with a right straight punch across her jaw.

Night Thrasher finished her off with a strong kick to the solar plexus. "Could we cut out the part where she called me The Bondage Queen?"

"Oh yeah. Because Night Thrasher sounds _so_ much straighter," Microbe teased. He had had the easiest time, as Cobalt Man hadn't had the time to start up his suit before Microbe commanded the bacteria that was latently residing on it to begin to rust the metal at a rapid clip. "Got my bacterial beasties rusting Cobalt Man if anyone wants to track down Nitro."

"Not to worry, Microbe," Namorita, with Coldheart down for the count, rose into the air and took off after Nitro once she spotted him, "I'm on it."

* * *

Trent was in his office aboard the 01, filling out a relatively small stack of paperwork when Hand burst through the door. "Sir, there's a situation in Stamford."

He looked up and immediately followed her to the main deck. As they walked briskly, she handed him a video file. Displayed in it were the dossiers of the four villains hiding out in Stamford. "Coldheart, Nitro, Cobalt Man and Speedfreak. All Level 6 threats and up; Nitro is Level 8 threat. How the hell did a bunch of kids find them before us?"

To that, Hand could only shrug. "Ultron is en route. It looks like they have everything under control. So far, at least."

Ignoring the snow under his feet as best he could, Nitro was fleeing barefoot as quickly as he could. He didn't get far, as the speedy Atlantean caught up to him. She rammed into him from behind and smashed him into the side of an empty school bus. Just on the other side of the bus, almost three dozen little children were playing in the front yard of Stamford Elementary. As amped up as she was, Namorita didn't take this into account.

"On your feet, Nitro! And don't try any of your stupid explosions, because that's only going to make me hit you harder!" she taunted as he slumped to the pavement.

He shook the cobwebs from his head and looked up at her. "Namorita, right? Aren't you the Sub-Mariner's cousin or something? Well, I'm afraid we're not the bargain basement losers you guys are used to, baby." His eyes widened, aglow with explosive power. He sneered. "You're playing with the big boys now," he growled right before he detonated. Nitro had the ability to explode his body, and them reform it at will.

"Neptune!" was all she managed before she, and the surrounding seven block radius, was absolutely engulfed in the dull orange dome of energy. The detonation was deafening. The roar of the wave of destructive energy barreling through the city, destroying everything in its path, thundered through the sleepy northern city.

The destruction was absolute.

The only four people in the near mile and a half radius of the explosion to survive was a black family of four that just so happened to be within reaching distance when Ultron arrived a mere second too late. The parents clung to their children with every ounce of strength their bodies had to spare as he tightly held onto them, having flown far above the dome of destruction.

Seeing that there was nothing that could be done right then, Ultron slowly flew the family to a nearby hospital. _**"You're safe now. Rescue workers should be here momentarily."**_

As he flew away, the father cried out after him, "Thank you, Ultron!"

* * *

Trent and Hand, as well as the other agents on the main deck, watched in absolute horror as Nitro detonated within a mere twenty feet of an elementary school. He swallowed and leaned on the railing in front of him, gripping it tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. "God-fucking-damn it."

"I'll contact Damage Inc and FEMA. You should be receiving a call from the President momentarily," Hand said, voice calm and collected, despite what they just witnessed.

He nodded silently. "Right. Tell Ultron to stay and help out with search and rescue."

"Yes sir."


	35. Cry For Justice

_**Cry for Justice**_

**Stamford, Connecticut**

**6:35 PM**

A seven block radius of Stamford was in complete ruins. There wasn't a single building left standing after Nitro detonated. That was now three cities, including Munich and part of Washington DC, to see a part of their populations just wiped out in a matter of moments.

It was already being called the worst tragedy in recent history, surpassing DC for one simple reason. It happened within twenty feet of an elementary school. On that cold February day, there were 145 students in attendance.

The response was swift. The hero community quickly congregated in Stamford and helped fire rescue, police officers and the nation guard to clear away rubble and find and rescue any survivors. John Walker, Captain America, who had become a mouth piece for the heroes in recent months, was among those who immediately and unambiguously condemned the young heroes' action, using such words as senseless, selfish and reprehensible.

They had made a mistake, a one born from youthful inexperience from one and greed for glory for another. And it cost everyone, them and everyone around them, dearly.

Three hours into the search and rescue operation, twenty survivors had been found. It was the only silver lining to be found.

While the rescue was taking place, War Machine and Captain America took a moment to take in the sight before them. It was sickening. There was barely a slab of concrete from the elementary school remaining. Under the Captain's boot laid the tattered remains of an American flag.

Heroes from across the country had come in to help out. X-Men, Fantastic Four, former Avengers and freelancers – they all came to try and do what they could.

"I'm told that they've got a lead on Nitro. Word is he snuck out of town in the back of a pickup truck," Rhodey informed.

"Does it really matter?" John countered. "All these children, Colonel. The FEMA chief said there could be _eight_ or _nine_ _hundred_ casualties. All dead for a stupid TV show."

"They should have called us in, Cap. Speedball knew the New Warriors were out of their league. The whole country saw the tape where they said they were only chasing ratings."

It was a point of discussion and controversy across social media sites. Someone within MTV leaked the footage from the New Warriors' final battle, and everyone with access to the internet saw Speedball's comments about how they were only doing this to improve ratings for the show. That led to an avalanche of criticism and public outcry that led to the channel immediately canceling the show.

While they conversed somberly, a pair of firemen were scanning a pile of rubble with a motion detector. After a few moments, it beeped. "Hey Ms. Grey! Cyclops! We need some help over here. Motion detectors are picking up something up twenty feet down, but we haven't got our diggers yet," one of them called to the nearest X-Men.

The redheaded Jean Grey, clad in an emerald green bodysuit with a gold sash tied around her waist turned and nodded. Her hands lifted slowly, and as they did, so did the rubble.

"Everybody back. Clear a little space, huh?"

"You got this, Jean?" Scott asked.

Her arms lifted above her head, lifting the rubble and debris clear and stably over everyone's heads. "I got it, Scott."

Moments later, an older man carrying a young girl in his arms led four students up to the surface from a staircase that apparently led to the school's basement. "Six more survivors over by the north side. Bring blankets and a defibrillator," a fireman reported.

Wolverine, who was busy sniffing around and pointing out where he smelled survivors, paused and looked up to find a fleet of Ultron drones flying in boxes of supplies. Up above them was Ultron, stoically - or as stoic as a robot could be - hovering above, arms folded across his chest. "You gotta be kiddin' me," he grumbled. "Why doesn't that asshole come down here and help?"

"M-mommy?" stuttered a little boy, scared of both Logan and Ultron's drones.

His mother soothingly rub his shoulders to console him. "It's okay, honey. They aren't going to hurt you. They're just bringing in food and water for everyone. They're the good guys."

Logan snarled. "We're all here volunteering to help after a federal emergency, and that jackass can't be bothered to lift a finger."

Whether Ultron didn't hear him, or did and just didn't care wasn't known. He lifted his arm and fired a small missile at a pile of rubble. "Look out!" someone yelled right before it exploded. Debris splashed back, away from anyone nearby, and revealed a stairwell that had been previously hidden from view.

Ultron shot down into the stairwell, followed by two drones. A pregnant pause elapsed before they emerged, each carrying two older people in their arms. _**"Six more survivors," **_Ultron stated to a fireman as he handed the people off for care. He stoically regarded Wolverine, who could only shake his head and mumble something under his breath.

"Hey, at least it wasn't a pack of Sentinels watching you guys," Spectrum offered.

"Heh. Good thing," Bill Foster, aka Goliath, said to her as he moved a large piece of rubble out of the way. He was standing at over seventy feet tall, so he was good for moving large amounts of debris, and could do so much more quickly than the rescue team's diggers could. "After this, they won't be just watching mutants, Spectrum. This is the straw that broke the camel's back. You mark my words."

She snorted. "You think?"

"Are you kidding me? After Munich _and_ DC, all of the shit the Hulk has pulled over the years, Wolverine down there saying he was going to kill the President if he re-instituted the Sentinel program? This is going to be a witch hunt, honey. They'll be coming after us with torches and pitchforks."

Monica frowned wistfully. "Yeah, well, maybe they're right this time, Goliath. Who the hell can justify this?"

"You guys might be out of a job after this one," Bucky said to Spider-Man as they both handed out water to a few dehydrated and frightened children.

"Yeah, with The World's Scariest Tin Can waiting in the wings. Great." Peter shook his head and stood a glance at said tin can, who was once again hovering up above. This time, he was sure he was scanning the area for any more survivors. Or possibly doing a count of how many _didn't_ survive. "Can't say I blame the people for wanting him over us."

"This was an isolated incident. Let's call it what it was – bunch of idiot teenagers who were in over their heads and got caught up in the fame and glory. This wouldn't have happened if it was one of us," Bucky said.

"But, it _did_ happen." Peter and Bucky looked over and saw Janet heading their way. Her black leather suit was covered with dust and soot from digging and flying around underground. "We can play the if game all we want, but the fact remains that those kids screwed up big time." She smiled and handed the children some sandwiches, which they graciously took. "And now, we're all going to be paying for it." She looked up at Ultron and his drones. Every other hero, at one point or another, had done the exact same. Some multiple times.

They didn't need to be at home in front of a TV to know what people were talking about. Change. It was a time for change, and serious, drastic change. To Peter, Bucky, Janet and Monica, all of which were in attendance when Director Trent disbanded the New Avengers in a bid to separate SHIELD from the hero community, they knew where this was leading.

They knew that Trent was aware of what was happening; he had to be, as Ultron was here. They knew that he didn't care for heroes, and was looking for an excuse to do something about them.

The New Warriors had just given him all the reason he needed.

"About fucking time you capes did _something_ right!" a man shouted. "You guys planning on killing any more kids when you leave here?! Huh?! You pieces of shi–" He was cut off by a police officer grabbing him from behind and dragging him away. Before he could get too far away, he spit in Janet's direction. "Jameson's right about you freaks! You're nothing but a bunch of menaces!"

Peter handed her a napkin to wipe the spit off her face. "There are thousands of people here just like him," he said somberly. "Thinking the same thing he said."

"Have been thinking," Bucky corrected.

And now, they had a right and reason to voice their displeasure.

_A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone. Crops are burned, animals slaughtered. Bodies and broken pieces of his life strewn about. Everything he loved, taken from him. His children._


	36. The Task

_**A/N: **__Sorry for the wait, guys. I got caught up with this roleplaying game called Anima, but I'm back now. And to make it up, I'll be posting another chapter shortly._

* * *

_**The Task**_

**Hightown, Madripoor**

**February 22, 2014 – 3:48 PM**

915.

That was the final death toll in Stamford. Not even 10% of DC's death toll and not even 15% of Munich's, but the emotional impact was so much greater. 145 students were killed. 145 lives that didn't even have the chance to get started were snuffed out in an instant.

They did nothing to anyone. They did nothing to deserve their cruel, abrupt end. Nothing anyone could say made these facts sting and burn less.

The parents that survived now had to struggle to find not only the strength, but a reason, to continue on with life. Their prides and joys were gone, and in their place was a gaping void that was impossible to fill completely, even _if_ they decided to have more children.

Hero reform was at the forefront of every talk show, political debate, and conversation. Everyone with sense agreed – it was time to do something about superheroes.

Some wanted them to be banned and thrown in prison. It was argued that in a world with hundreds of villains, banning heroes was just asking for another Masters of Evil situation. However, the counterpoint was that with Ultron, the Masters of Evil would never happen again. This point was strong and had a lot of people stroking their chins in deep contemplation.

The other, more prevailing option was a registration act. In it, heroes would be required to submit their identities, their hero _and_ civilian identities, to the government and SHIELD, and would have to undergo mandatory training to hone their abilities. There was also rumblings of setting an age minimum on heroics, possibly twenty. That would eliminate teenage heroes who could have gotten caught up in the moment due their youth.

Frankly, Coulson didn't like any of it. He understood that Ultron was more efficient at heroics than the heroes were, and that there hadn't been any casualties when he stopped disasters. But that wasn't all that a hero was, just someone who stopped disasters. They were an inspiration. They instilled hope in the masses, and that was something that, in his opinion, Ultron would never be capable of doing.

It was something Trent didn't understand, and he doubted he ever would. And as long as he didn't, no hero would be safe. But, if there was one thing he did agree with in this entire thing, it was that heroes needed training, and fast. Events like Stamford could not continue, or this would only get worse.

"Agent May, what's your location?"

While Stamford struggled to rebuild and move forward, and the hero community dreaded what the future held for them, SHIELD continued to protect the world. Coulson and his team were assigned with retrieving an 084 that had been discovered win the depths of Madripoor. It was a bitter trip for Coulson, as it was the first time he met Jessica Drew.

It was back in 2009, months after Stark revealed to the world that he was Iron Man. They _were_ supposed to be running a sting operation to apprehend a dangerous arms dealer who was selling stolen Stark Industries weapons that she picked up from The Ten Rings. What ended up happening was an assassination attempt on Fury's life, by Drew. It was foiled, thanks to a cell phone, and Drew was taken in.

The rest was history.

_=Leaving the docks. Nothing so far,=_ she answered through the comm in his SUV. He didn't feel comfortable taking Lola out of the Bus.

"Fine," he said with a disappointed sigh. "Find Ward and meet up with me at the warehouse district. That's the only other place where it could be, if our intel was right."

_=Roger that. You're alright?=_

"I'm fine. Why?" He knew exactly why she was asking him. He had been off ever since they stepped foot in the godforsaken country. Anyone would be, of course, but he had been especially so.

_=You're off.=_

He sighed again and rapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he came up to a red light. "May, I'm fine. Really."

He wasn't okay. The anniversary of the Avengers' deaths was in exactly four months, and he didn't know how he was going to handle it. More importantly, he wasn't sure how Trent was going to handle it. He wanted to think that he would have some sort of memorial service or gathering in their honor; but, given his sour words on a few of them, he highly doubted it.

It made him sick, to be living in a world without them. Even eight months after they were killed, it still felt like a dream. Not like the nightmare it very much was weeks after it happened, but it was still unreal. He would have given anything to hear Barton crack a joke, or Stark's biting sarcasm, or Thor's otherworldly wisdom, or Steve's old-fashioned ideology, or Natasha's silent –

"This light's been red for a while," he observed warily. A police car pulled up beside him to his left. The police officer in the passenger side looked at Coulson suspiciously, then immediately turned to say something to his partner.

_=Found Ward. En route to the warehouses now. What's your ETA?=_

_At this rate, a year. _He would have chuckled to himself, but something didn't feel right. Finally, the light turned green, and he proceeded forward. The police car that had been at his side sped ahead of him and switched over to his lane. A slight grimace crossed his face.

_=Phi–=_ was the last thing May managed before a vehicle slammed into the driver's side of Coulson's SUV. He felt his wrist snap as he was jostled to the side violently by the collision. Before he knew what happened, two more cars - police cars, to be precise - slammed into him, one on each side, effectively pinning him in. The car that had been in front of him slammed on its brakes and sped in reverse to complete the box in.

_"Fracture detected,"_ reported the artificial intelligence installed in the SUV's CPU. Coulson straightened out, blood dripping out from his nostrils and collecting in his mouth, and reached under his glove compartment. _"Recommend anesthetic injection."_

The initial police car backed away to make room for a SWAT style van. Out poured four men, all in black body armor and riot helmets, with no identifying symbols to be found. Eight police officers exited their vehicles, all wielding sub-machine guns.

_"Madripoor police dispatch shows no units in this area."_

The officers took aim.

Coulson swallowed and stabbed the syringe in his forearm. Immediately, he felt the throbbing pain in his wrist and head subside. "Get me out of here."

A hailstorm of gunfire pelted the SUV, denting the reinforced chassis and the bulletproof windows. The head's up display on the windshield showed the window integrity was steadily and rapidly declining.

_"Propulsion system is offline."_

"Then reboot, dammit!"

The gunfire continued for nearly five more seconds before it ceased in preference of an automated battering ram that two more of the mysterious men carried out of the van. They placed it down on the driver's side and locked it into place. One of them pushed the dull blue button on the control panel to charge it up. It steadily became brighter.

_"Warning. Window integrity compromised."_

"Ya think? How long until propulsion is online?" Coulson crawled into the passenger seat and braced for the inevitable impact.

_"Calculating." _

The battering ram slammed into the side of the trunk with thunderous force, lifting the two driver side tires off the ground. _"Window integrity at 31%. Deploying countermeasures."_

"Hold that order," he said immediately.

The battering ram slammed into the side of the trunk again, again lifting the driver side off the ground. _"Window integrity 19%. Defensive measures advised."_

"Wait!"

The truck was struck for a third time. The dent that was left from the impact had almost stressed the glass to the point of shattering. One more strike and they would be through, and he would be vulnerable.

Of course, he already knew that.

The police officers moved in close and kept their weapons trained on Coulson as the ram cocked back for another strike. _"Window integrity 1%."_

"Now!"

A miniature machine gun ejected up from the center divide compartment. Coulson took hold of it and opened fire on the police without prejudice. The glass shattered outward and the four men that were right next to the truck were immediately riddled with gunfire. He moved methodically, gunning down the nearby officers quickly. He pressed a button on the handle, and fired a missile that exploded once it made contact with the police van. Another missile was fired and flipped one police car atop another one.

Officers scrambled for covers as he continued his salvo. Bullets pinged off of the cars or found their marks, dropping a few more before they could reach safety.

_"Propulsion system back online."_

"Get us out of here, now!" The truck threw itself into reverse and into the front bumper of police car with a loud, smoky screech of the tires. It nearly climbed over the hood, and nearly did the same as it shot forward and slammed into the only other car blocking its way.

A path cleared, it took off down the street. Both Coulson and the policemen continued their fire, but were unable to score a hit. For Coulson, that was a victory. "Initiate vertical takeoff!"

"Flight systems damaged."

"Dammit. Activate the guidance camera." He crawled back into the driver's seat and took the wheel as a small window on the HUD displayed the view from the camera on the rear bumper. "We'll do this the old-fashioned way. Gimme the wheel."

Coulson was back in control, and started weaving in and out of traffic. Those men, those were the same men that Hamady was talking about. Those were the people that killed Maria. Seeing them in person eliminated from his mind any doubt at all of a robbery or whatever bullshit SHIELD cooked up. Also, it eliminated any doubt that there was a cover-up at SHIELD. And he was next on the chopping block. "Get me Agent May."

_"Communications are already damaged."_

"Well, what's not damaged?!"

_"The air conditioning is fully operational."_

Coulson weaved through traffic, the fake police hot on his tail. They seemed to be professionals, given that they were having just as easy a time slithering through traffic as he was. _Who the hell are these guys?_ he found himself pondering.

_"Traffic ahead."_

"Need an alternate route to the docks." If he could get there in time, maybe he could have caught May on her way to the warehouses. Or perhaps on her way back to the docks. Either way, he needed backup now.

_"Traffic alert. All traffic is stopped on the Penroy Bridge. South Taylro Avenue is clear in three blocks, directly ahead."_ Coulson groaned.

With traffic backing up the way it was, he would never make it. "Dammit." He sped up ahead and struck the back right bumper of pickup truck to spin it out of the way. He didn't slow down and managed to squeeze in between a pair of cars and slipped passed them. In doing so, the driver's veered toward each toward each other, colliding, effectively creating a barricade that blocked the fake police from following him.

Momentarily, he knew, but it was enough of a reprieve to allow him time to navigate the thickening traffic. Or, so he thought. It turned out that the traffic was much thicker than he originally anticipated. He had to slow to a crawl in order to partly safely navigate through the stationary cars, and only managed to get so far before the fake police caught up to him.

Policemen rammed their way through traffic, while some climbed over cars on foot to get to Coulson. When one got close enough, he opened fire and just barely missed hitting him in the shoulder. Another one managed to get in behind the SUV, but never got the chance to fire when Coulson backed into him at speed. He went flying into the windshield behind him, and didn't move again.

The former officer that just barely missed Coulson moved to the other side of a bus stop and opened fire. Glass shattered over the sidewalk and innocent civilians that were diving for safety. Coulson was almost hit and had to press himself back into the seat to avoid gunfire.

He rammed the front right side of a nearby car and sent it spinning into the officer. Whether he was dead or just down momentarily wasn't important.

He peeled off, with two police cars hot on his tail. They crisscrossed through traffic, minimizing motion to maintain their speed to catch up with Coulson.

One officer leaned out of the window and opened fire. He hit passing civilian vehicles more often than not, but ones that reached Coulson barely missed. The car he was hanging out of pulled up to Coulson's side, allowing him to ram into it and grab the man hanging out. He fired, but being too close and Coulson having a hold of his wrist caused his shots to go awry.

The second car came up from the other side and sandwiched him in. The man Coulson had a hold of spent the last of his rounds in his semiautomatic and drew his handgun. He never got to use it after taking a fee heavy punches to his jaw and nose.

_"Warning. Approaching intersection."_ Coulson slammed on the brakes, leaving the two cop cars behind. The unsuspecting truck driver that prompted the warning slammed into the rightmost car, and just managed to clip the leftmost one, sending them both either skidding or spiraling out of control.

Coulson drifted onto the adjacent street. "Get me off the grid!" he demanded. He was almost to the docks, but it was painfully obvious that he was only going to bring trouble down on May and Ward. Better for him to find a safe place, let the heat pass by and get in contact with the team at a later time. Undoubtedly, this was going to be on the news, and SHIELD knew about it, so the only concern he had was May bring too worried about him to think straight.

_"Calculating route to safe location."_

Coulson was about to respond, but stopped suddenly before a word got out. His attention was too drawn to the man standing in the middle of the streets, right in front of docks. He was cloaked in black and silver tactical gear, with a silver hood over his head and what looked like skull mask pulled over his face. The upper half of the mask was obscured by the hood.

The man raised his right arm, training a grenade launcher at his oncoming truck and fired. The disk shaped grenade skidded against the pavement and magnetically attached to the bottom of Coulson's truck before exploding, upending it. The man casually sidestepped to the left and allowed the truck to skid past him, on its front bumper.

It slid into the docking district and flipped over the wooden railing and into the water below.

The man walked over and just caught the rear bumper sinking below the water line. Before he could fire another grenade, he heard another SUV heading in his direction. He sprinted off in retreat before May and Ward could get to him.


	37. Losing Their Best

_**A/N: **__Like I said last chapter, this is to make up for the longish wait. If you haven't read the previous chapter, make sure you do to avoid spoilers._

* * *

_**Losing Their Best**_

_May and Ward arrived one minute too late. They had arrived at the warehouse district, but when they neither heard nor saw any sign of Coulson, they decided to head back to the docks. Actually, it was May who decided. Ward argued that he would want them to search the warehouses, but she wasn't hearing it. _

_But, by the time they arrived, they saw the mysterious hooded man standing over the docks railing, as if watching something in the water. He had what looked like a grenade launcher pointed at whatever he was looking at. When he saw them, he left quickly. _

_May saw the grenade launcher in his hand, and a sinking feeling set in the pit of her stomach. She knew that something had happened to Coulson. Skye confirmed through GPS tracking that Coulson's SUV had somehow ended up in the water, and he hadn't emerged after almost two minutes. _

_She dove in after him, and found him unconscious and still buckled in. The SUV had almost completely filled with water, but the driver's seat was completely submerged. Hurriedly, she drew the knife from her boot and cut him free, then carefully but quickly pulled him out through the shot out passenger side window. "Ward!" she shouted as soon as she emerged._

_He found a flotation device attached to a long piece of rope tied to one of the cement pillars that line the wooden railing. It took him and two bystanders to pull up both Coulson and May. "Inbound Simmons," he barked into the comm as he helped her get him into the back. "Coulson's down and injured. Prep medbay. Tell Skye to alert the nearest SHIELD base of our arrival."_

_=Roger that.=_

_The only injuries he sustained, that she could immediately determine, were a few shallow gunshot wounds to the arm and shoulder, a broken nose and a fractured wrist. The real danger was that he was unconscious underwater. The threat of drowning wasn't his only problem. Brain damage from a lack of oxygen for almost two minutes was a real possibility if he survived. If._

_She wasn't so attached to him that she refused to see it as a possibility. _

_As Ward weaved in and out of traffic en route to the Bus, May performed CPR to get Coulson to cough the water up and allow him to breathe more easily. He sputtered and hacked, coughing up gobs of water that splashed against the back of the seat and trickled down the side of his mouth. _

_May frowned and smoothed his hair back when the coughing finally subsided and he seemed to be breathing on his own, albeit labored._

_"How is he?" _

_May didn't answer for a long moment, prompting Ward to glance back into the rearview. It was then that he saw her saddened grimace, eyes blinking furiously to fight back tears that were threatening to fall. "May?"_

_"He's… he's breathing on his own for now."_

_Ward didn't say another word until they reached the Bus five minutes later. Skye and Fitz were waiting on them with a gurney, on which Ward carefully placed Coulson and wheeled into the lab. _

_It… went as well as it could have with the limited supplies and equipment in the Bus. Simmons was able to stabilize Coulson enough for the trip to the SHIELD base in Singapore, where he was handed off to SHIELD doctors for surgery to set the broken bones and stitch up his wounds. More importantly, they were going to give him a CAT scan to determine if any damage had been done to his brain and how much oxygen his brain lost. _

_According to the doctors, the damage wasn't extensive, but it was bad enough that he was going to have to remain a few days for further observation._

_But, he didn't make it the night. Complications occurred too quickly for May to cope with. As she was ushered out, she noticed an agent standing beside Coulson's bed as doctors rushed in. She screamed his name in uncharacteristic panic, but it was too late._

_Phil Coulson passed away at 1:49 AM._

* * *

**Triskelion**

**February 25, 2014 – 3:56 AM**

It was the second time in less than two years that she had lost him. The first time to that fucking bastard Loki, and this time to some guy in a hood.

May replayed the scene in her mind every minute, and had been for the last two days. While externally, she appeared calm, almost apathetic, everyone who knew her best knew that out of any of them, she was the worst off.

Out of all of them, her and Coulson were the closest. They had been through it all together; Bahrain, Genosha, Cuba, Latveria, more missions in Madripoor than either of them wanted to think about. He had seen her at her worst, and had been there for her during her most difficult times. He was there when she was shaken, bloodied and broken after Bahrain, and he had pulled her back from falling off the deep end when she had nearly lost Ward to an attack by AIM leader Monica Rappaccini.

He was her rock and her tether, and now, he was gone. How was she supposed to continue?

Did she even want to continue? The kids needed her, but Ward was more than capable of handling them. Plus, there were plenty of SHIELD agents capable of flying the Bus.

What would she even do if she left? Go into something mundane like the CIA or FBI? That would have been a letdown.

There was no way in hell that she was going into the public sector and start a family. The average housewife deal wasn't her thing, nor was having and raising any crying, snot nosed little brats.

So, then, what?

Stay?

That seemed like the best option, but without her tether …

An arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her onto a smooth, hard chest. She sighed softly, hoping that it had a least some irritability laced somewhere. It didn't. She sighed again and nestled her head into the space between his shoulder and head. "I miss him," she breathes into his neck.

"I do, too," Ward said in reply.

She knew he did, even if he didn't show it around the others. He and Coulson weren't necessarily the closest, but there was a mutual respect between the two that was hard to dismiss or ignore. Both men knew how close she was, and how fond she was, of the other and didn't let that come between them. She was thankful for that. Especially now.

She didn't blame him for Coulson dying. It was Ward that tried to get her to stay at the warehouse in Madripoor. That 'discussion' delayed them by a full minute. Had it not happened, they would have arrived in time to try and stop whoever that was. She didn't blame him because he was concentrating on the task at hand, the 084, and had trust that Coulson was savvy enough to get out of whatever problem he had found himself in.

That trust normally was well-placed; this time, it wasn't.

"I keep expecting him to walk through that door any minute." Her voice was shaky, making her sound timid and weak. She hated it, but knew that Ward wasn't judging her. He knew as well as she did that she was still a human with emotions, a heart that could be broken. She made everyone believe that she was an Ice Queen, like Hill and Hand. She made everyone believe that she didn't care, because it was easier to deal with people that way. Once emotions were revealed, an agent was compromised, and that agent might as well have turned their badge into Trent right then and there.

Ward had also seen her at her most bare. No pun intended.

"I know." His hand moved in a slow, deliberate circular motion along the small of her back. Across the scars she had earned when jobs went bad.

It was soothing.

His short answers meant that he was going to let her drive the conversation. When she was ready to talk, he was ready to listen.

The thing was, she didn't know when, or if, she would be up for talking. She knew that she needed to eventually, but this was the exact kind of thing that she talked to Coulson about. Ward was a good listener, but he was more than twenty years younger than Coulson and lacked the wisdom that almost fifty years of living provided.

Fury, Hill and Coulson were gone, either in hiding or dead. Hand was far too busy with her position to listen to her vent and rant. Trent, well, she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. Neither did she trust Sanders. There was something dangerously charming about her. Like a cobra. There was a hidden danger behind her beauty.

Guess she was stuck with leaving it all bottled up until she could find a punching bag, either living or inanimate.

"May?" Ward asked suddenly.

He had been so quiet that it startled her to hear him speaking with first being spoken to. "Yes?"

"Have you –" he started before stopping suddenly. "Have you given any thought recently to maybe calling it quits?"

It was such a sudden question that she almost didn't understand what he said. "What do you mean?" she asked, with only a small trace of suspicion in her words.

"I mean… Hill and Coulson are gone. Fury's gone. Barton. Romanoff. Drew. Rogers. They're all gone. These were some of the best agents at SHIELD. I just think that… I was just wondering if you were considering getting out while you can."

"Until as recently as ten minutes ago, no." She paused to sit up, not bothering to cover over her chest with the sheet that was only covering their lower halves. "And what would I even do? Start a family?" She snorted halfheartedly, and pretended to miss the grimace he flashed briefly. "People like me, people like us don't just retire and settle down into mundanity. I'd go insane, and I know you would too."

"What do you mean _I _would?"

"You'd want to come with me, wouldn't you." It was a statement of fact, not a question. She knew that he was just attached enough to her to quit SHIELD and go with her to wherever she decided she wanted to go.

When he didn't answer, she smirked. "I know how much this means to you. It means much more to me. SHIELD is my life. And, it will be my death."

It was the morbid promise her and Coulson made to one another when they first became partners. That they weren't going to retire, they were going to die as agents of SHIELD. Preferably by old age. Even if Coulson was gone, she planned on holding up her end of the promise.

It was what he would have wanted.

Ward nodded and pulled her closer to him. "I respect that. And I'm glad, because I don't want you to go." He kissed her softly for a moment before breaking the kiss to add, "And I don't want anything to happen. When I see all the agents that have been killed these last several months, I just… I just fear that you'd be next, and I… I don't know if I can…"

She shushed him softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Trust me."

That one statement seemed to put him at ease. His arms tightened slightly around her waist. And she melted into his warmth. "I do."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Hope everyone is enjoying the story. Leave a review and let me know!_


End file.
